


Unconventional Methods

by sanguisuga



Series: Aberrant Fragments [6]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Codependency, Consensual Possession, Dom Lestrade, Dom Mycroft, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Holmes Brothers, Incest, Insomnia, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Pain Kink, Prostate Milking, Pure Porny Goodness, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Sub Sherlock, Unconventional Relationship, holmescest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock can't sleep. Mycroft helps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by one of the prompts on the current Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo challenge. 'Lap'. It hasn't actually been prompted, but I saw it and thought 'Holmescest', and then my muse was off and running. At least two chapters, perhaps more depending on what the bloody muse beats out of me. 
> 
> Not beta'd or brit-picked, perhaps that will change if it continues to grow.
> 
> Please do let me know what you think, my lovelies!

Mycroft Holmes was sipping at a lukewarm cup of tea and shuffling folders on his desk when his mobile rang with a very specific tone. It blared at him twice and then fell silent, prompting him to swiftly rearrange the folders so that nothing truly incriminating could be easily discerned. For that was the alert that his brother was in the building, and the only reason he ever came here was to...

Ah yes. The door to his office fairly flew open as Sherlock burst in, his coat twirling around him melodramatically as he stalked into the room. Anthea came immediately stomping after, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at the all-too-familiar intruder while Sherlock ignored her completely. She cast an apologetic look at her boss, but he waved it off with a gentle nod. Mycroft smiled faintly as she withdrew, closing the door firmly behind her. His P.A. was the only person in the world with which he shared an unspoken mental understanding - other than his irritating little brother, of course.

He sat back in his chair and watched as Sherlock paced in front of him frenetically. It had been perhaps six months or so since he’d seen him in this sort of state. His normally thin face was gaunt, his cheekbones standing out in starker contrast than usual. The hollows under his eyes were a deep purplish hue, and the usual brilliance of his blue-green orbs had been considerably diminished. The mop of curls that his younger brother was so proud of was hanging listlessly in his face, no doubt due to the long fingers that were even now raking through it. Sherlock stopped in front of his desk and abruptly threw his arms wide.

“Well?”

“Well what, brother mine?”

Sherlock growled with sheer frustration. “You know what I need, Mycroft.” His tone was absolutely dripping with disdain, and the elder Holmes had to hold back on the grin that wanted to bloom on his lips. “You always know, and yet you never just give it to me.”

“Consider it my attempt to teach you some manners, my intolerably rude younger sibling. If you ask politely, you just may get what you want all that sooner.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “How long?”

The younger Holmes growled again. “Need, Mycroft. Not want. It’s been three days, nearly four.” His hands slowly dropped to his sides as his head bowed. “Please, Myc. Please.”

Mycroft’s heart wrenched at his low, miserable tone and he pushed his chair away from the desk before standing. Sherlock lifted his head and watched with eager if slightly doubtful eyes as his brother shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He inclined his head gracefully and allowed himself a slight smile as Sherlock shrugged his Belstaff off his shoulders, quickly followed by his own jacket. He began to unbutton his shirt as Mycroft walked around the desk and settled down in the middle of the large leather sofa on the other side of his office.

Mycroft smoothed his hands down his thighs and looked up as Sherlock loomed over him, tugging his shirttails loose from his trousers. He gave him a small nod as his younger brother bit his lip uncertainly, and then Sherlock sighed as he straddled his legs and sank down onto his lap with a low groan of relief. No further words were spoken as he tucked his face into the side of Mycroft’s neck, as the elder Holmes ran his hands under his open shirt and around, caressing his bare back in long, sure strokes. He hummed quietly in Sherlock’s ear, mostly snatches of lullabies here and there, just random rhythmic sounds to help soothe his little brother’s mind, to settle him, to lure him into slumber.

They both had to deal with the odd bout of insomnia here and there, but it had always been Sherlock who had suffered the greatest. For some unknown reason, this was the only sure method of enticing his body to take its rightful rest. Mycroft’s methods were more along the pharmacological route, although he indulged very infrequently, and only when he felt he was entering truly life-threatening territory. He had heard too many stories of various members of the honoured Holmes clan becoming addicted to such chemical distractions, and he abhorred the idea of it possibly happening to him.

But for Sherlock, this had always been the only method that had worked for him - clambering up into his big brother’s lap and draping himself over him like a living blanket made of flesh and bone. Mycroft supposed that it had started when he was a baby. Nanny had been of an advanced age and was damn near deaf as a post, so when Sherlock fussed in the middle of the night, his weak cries would often go unnoticed. Their rooms had adjoined, so it was usually big brother that would wake and come in to collect him from his cradle. He would clutch the tiny bundle to his chest and settle down in the rocker, murmuring quietly as he swayed their bodies together until they would fall back into a peaceful slumber. This pattern continued throughout most of their young lives at the manor, including one memorable occasion during which their parents had been holding some important function or other.

They had deemed eleven year-old Mycroft to be mature enough to attend, although he had found it frightfully boring. He supposed it would have been one thing if it had been one of Father’s political get-togethers as opposed to one of Mummy’s social gatherings. As it was, the topics of discussion hadn't been at all intriguing to his nimble mind. Not that he didn’t understand the conversations swirling around him, because of course he understood them all far too well. He just couldn’t care less about how much the new Rolls had set the Smythe-Ellisons back, and he certainly didn't want to hear about the new rentboy that had been seen gallivanting about town on Mr. Thompson’s arm. Never mind how much younger he was from last month’s model, and never mind that the same individual had been seen pinching Mrs. Thompson’s saggy behind on numerous occasions as well... So Mycroft had carried himself off to peruse the library, settling down to read the considerable tome on philosophy that he had discovered; quite content to be on his own for a while.

He had become distracted from his impromptu studies as the buzz of conversation had shifted, the monotonous droning turning into soft murmuring and quiet coos of delight. He suspected that his precocious four year-old brother had escaped from Nanny’s clutches to put in an appearance among the adults to soak up their praise and adoration, but Mycroft didn’t think anything further of it until a high-pitched shriek echoed down the hall. He had immediately abandoned his bubble of solitude and peace in the library and had fairly flown back into the formal sitting room. Mummy had his baby brother caged securely in her arms even though he was fighting to be free, his small face pinched up with absolute horror as he continued to shriek wordlessly. Mycroft had gone to her side and tried to attract her attention, but she was either too preoccupied or too embarrassed by her youngest child’s behaviour to pay much mind to the eldest.

It wasn’t until he physically reached out to grasp his little brother by the waist, tugging at his small body ineffectually, that she had turned her cold eyes on him, her elegantly painted lips turned down in a frown. He had lifted his head defiantly. “Mother. Either put him down, or give him to me.” He had glared back at her icy expression. “It’s quite clear that he doesn’t want _you_.”

Sherlock had confirmed this by stretching his tiny arms out in Mycroft’s direction, squirming against her hold and crying out, _“Myc Myc Myc,”_ until she had finally relinquished her hold. With his baby brother bawling into his chest, he had scurried from the room and up the stairs to his own bed, only pausing to slip his shoes off before climbing up with Sherlock still clutched tight to him, his wailing tapering off into soft hiccoughs as they settled into the pillows together.

That had been the first time that he had his brother in his bed, but it would not be the last. Most often, they would be put to bed on their own, and Mycroft would slip off to sleep easily, only jolting awake when Sherlock would come shambling into his room in the middle of the night, dragging his favourite blanket behind him. “Can’t sleep, Myc.” Mycroft would hum and scoot over to make room, and at first Sherlock would keep to ‘his’ side of the bed, but he would always wake to find him curled up against him, his small hand clenched firmly in his pyjama top as if he feared him slipping away from him in the dead of night.

The night-time visits had tapered off as they had grown, although Sherlock would still come to him from time to time, just nowhere near as frequently. And even though he would still climb up into his lap without a word and perhaps doze into his chest or neck fitfully, he would not stay through the night. Mycroft had tried to convince himself that he didn’t miss his little brother’s presence in his bed, but of course the one person that he could not adequately lie to was himself.

Sherlock made up for it when Mycroft returned from university for the summer holidays, hardly even bothering to pretend that he was sleeping in his own bed. Instead he camped out in his big brother’s room, and they would read or play chess until the wee hours of the morning, eventually falling asleep slotted together like puzzle pieces. They had always fit together like they were made for each other, Siamese twins born seven years apart.

Mycroft smiled as his ears caught the sound of the first faint whistling snore, Sherlock’s breath washing over his neck in long, peaceful draughts. It wouldn’t be long before he would start drooling, although he always vehemently denied that he could possibly be that vulgar. Mycroft kept up his tuneless humming as he continued to stroke his little brother's back, making sure that he was solidly under.

Tonight, Sherlock would come home with him, and he would disappear into the bedroom that Mycroft kept ready for him, making a show of getting into his own bed and turning out the light. Mycroft would wait in the darkness of his room, propped up on his pillows, almost wishing that Sherlock would stay put. But of course it wouldn’t be long before he would slink in, nothing but a deeper shadow in the darkness, neatly skirting the pools of light left by the open windows. He would crawl under the covers and over his brother’s waiting body, once again draping himself over him, settling down on his lap as if he were still four years old.

But of course he wasn’t that child any longer, was he? No, he most certainly was not, and although Mycroft would attempt to keep his traitorous libido in check, his body would pay absolutely no attention to his silent edicts. He would attempt to distract himself by going over the latest contract in his head, or contemplate the current crisis in Ecuador and what that might mean for the banana trade. He might worry a little about what was in stock in the larder, and what he might feed his little brother for the week or so that he would stay, if he could even persuade him to eat at all. He would think about any number of tiny worries, about his nearly overwhelming responsibilities, but none of it would work.

Sherlock would be still and silent atop him, held tense and watchful rather than drifting off to sleep, and eventually Mycroft’s body would betray him there in the dark, eagerly responding to another’s warmth and the beat of a heart against his own. The soft, wondering sigh that his little brother would utter as he felt the first twitches of flesh hardening against him would not help in the least, of course. His gentle, curious fingers would be enough to make Mycroft’s vision go pure white for just a moment, and although he would make weak noises of dissension, there would be nothing from that point on that would dissuade Sherlock from completing his personal mission, experiment, what-have-you.

Of course, it was nearly impossible not to feel an almost crushing sense of guilt over the act - how could he not? Did the completely involuntary reactions of his physical form somehow compel Sherlock into action? Did he perhaps feel that he had to relieve his brother’s tension as some sort of recompense for the service that Mycroft had performed for him? Because of course he would never ask such a thing. He may tease Sherlock for needing his assistance so desperately, but there was nothing more in the world that he hated than seeing his little brother in pain, and he would gladly drop everything in an instant to help relieve his suffering. He needed absolutely nothing in return, not even the reluctant ‘thank you’ that would fall from Sherlock’s lips upon occasion. He abhorred the idea that Sherlock would take him in hand only out of some sense of obligation - it made the whole act take on a distinct veneer of salaciousness beyond the requisite burn of taboo.

The only consolation that Mycroft could take to heart was that Sherlock had never once done anything in his life that he truly did not want to do, so why would this be any different? He never performed his task with anything but the most reverent care, his elegant violinist’s fingers playing his brother's body as deftly and as sweetly as any musical instrument. There would be no words spoken between them, no sounds beyond the creak of the mattress, the answering groan of Mycroft’s muscles and bones as he stiffened and shuddered underneath his little brother’s tender torture. He would bury his nose into the wild soft curls at the top of Sherlock’s head, and muffle his cries to the best of his ability. The anticipation of feeling that hand wrap around his aching member would prove to be nearly too much, and Mycroft would spend almost embarrassingly quickly.  

Sherlock would withdraw only to collect some tissues to wipe up the mess with the same gentle care that he had taken to create it in the first place, casually dropping the soiled bundle over the side of the bed. With Mycroft lolling languidly next to him, his body and tongue thick with endorphins, Sherlock would once again tuck himself into his big brother’s body and instantly drop into a dead sleep. They never spoke of of it the next day, and Mycroft never reciprocated. He would if Sherlock asked it of him, not only happily, but quite eagerly. But he never did, and of course it was all too obvious that his brother was not at all aroused by what he had just done, as his body would be completely limp all over.

That just added another element of shame to Mycroft’s deepening well of guilt and self-hatred. He would lie there for hours underneath his brother’s warm body, castigating himself over and over. Sherlock clearly didn’t like it, it didn’t excite him or deliver any pleasure to him, so why did he do it? What had he done to convince his baby brother that he must defile himself like that? Worst of all, why didn’t he stop him? Again, not that there was much that would stop Sherlock Holmes once he got a notion in his head, but Mycroft knew that if he had said ‘no’ at any point in the proceedings, he would have respected that and withdrawn. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it - it just felt too damn _good_.

He sighed heavily and shifted slightly, beginning to feel his legs tingling from the strain of his brother’s weight. Mycroft lifted a hand to his collar and found it wet, much to his personal amusement. Sherlock slipped to the side easily enough as his body was slowly lowered and stretched out on the sofa on his own. Following their usual pattern, Mycroft stood and shook out his limbs before gently slipping his brother’s shoes off, and making sure that his neck wasn’t held in an awkward position before draping his Belstaff over his prone form as an impromptu blanket. Then he settled back behind his desk, once again shifting folders, reading reports and signing off on several memos.

He worked steadily for another four hours or so, only lifting his head when Anthea knocked softly as a warning before entering. “Eight-thirty, sir. Shall I order from that Thai place that you both like?” Her fingers were rapidly tapping over the keyboard of her mobile, and Mycroft knew that the order was most likely already on its way.

He smirked slightly as he nodded. “Yes, that would be lovely. I’ll have George stop by on the way home to pick it up. No need for delivery.”

She quirked a quick smile at him and withdrew, casting a quick glance at the sofa on her way out. Sherlock had roused himself slightly, sitting up and yet not, leaning crookedly to the left, his dark lashes sweeping over pinkened cheeks. Mycroft felt another dangerous jolt of stark emotion - love, lust, fierce protectiveness, his head and heart absolutely reeling with it. His brother must have seen something in his face, or maybe he could simply feel the embarrassing welter of sentiment rolling from him in waves, as he was looking at him quite closely. There was no condescension in his gaze, no innate knowledge. Just - curiosity, and perhaps a bit of excitement.

Mycroft did not allow himself to imagine what that look might mean, instead choosing to occupy himself with getting Sherlock presentable enough for travel, helping him to slip his shoes back on and re-buttoning his shirt when his own fingers proved to be too sleep-addled to manage on their own. They shambled down the corridor together with Sherlock stumbling once or twice, inducing Mycroft to wrap one arm around his waist to aid in keeping him upright. He firmly told himself that the tiny smirk playing around one corner of his brother’s lips didn’t mean anything. But the satisfied sigh as they settled into the back of the car together was not present in just his imagination, especially since it escaped just as Sherlock laid his head on his shoulder.

George had of course been apprised of the situation via Anthea and her ever-present mobile, and he completed his own tasks without need of instructions. Sometimes it was very handy to have a staff that knew him so well, and knew what was expected of them. And so when they arrived at the townhouse, Mycroft once again took on the task of steering his brother in through the door as George carried in the takeaway, putting it down on the kitchen worktop and silently taking his leave. Mycroft plated a small portion of Sherlock’s favourite noodle dish and opened the carton of tom kha for himself, completely forgoing his usual manners by simply picking it up and sipping the creamy broth right from the container.

Sherlock snorted at his unconventional (for a Holmes) method of feeding himself, but of course that made him slurp one of his noodles and it went a bit wild, leaving a smear of sauce over one cheek. Seemingly without thinking, Mycroft reached out with his thumb to wipe it off, absentmindedly bringing it to his mouth and licking it clean. Sherlock blinked at him for a long while before settling his gaze back down on his plate, pushing his food around on it fitfully.

“Just a bit more, Sherlock. And then you can go to bed.”

The younger man frowned slightly at his brother’s parental tone, but rolled his eyes and took another couple of mouthfuls, finally pushing his nearly empty plate away and watching silently as Mycroft put everything away neatly. The silence continued as they went upstairs and retired to their respective bedrooms to don their pyjamas, meeting in the bathroom and sharing a sink as they cleaned their teeth together, just as they had when they had been younger.

Mycroft dabbed his face dry and reached out to squeeze Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m going to read for a while. Sleep tight.” He did his best to ignore the inscrutable look he saw reflected in the mirror as he retreated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence is broken, and the shift in dynamic begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeesh! A little bit of fun and sweetness, and then my muse decides to smack me around and make me her bitch. Or something... Yeah.
> 
> Please comment, please take heed of the tags. Not exactly sure how dark this is going to get, but boy oh boy are the brothers dysfunctional little buggers...
> 
> Kisses, all!

Mycroft retired to his bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack before slipping under the blankets and settling down with a novel of no importance. Sometimes he actually read the words and absorbed the stories, but more often than not it was just a little ritual he employed to help him find his own rest. He would scan the pages and perhaps diagram the sentences in his head, deconstruct the plot and more or less edit the entire thing. But not tonight.

After all, it _had_ been nearly six months since his brother’s last overnight visit, and despite his best efforts, his body was already holding itself in watchful anticipation, the gentle twitching at the base of his cock thoroughly distracting him from the inconsequential words dancing across the page. Mycroft instead found himself recalling the first time Sherlock had attempted to take him in hand - he had been twenty-two, his brother just fifteen. Having graduated from university, he was spending one last summer at the manor while the townhouse in the city that his parents had gifted him with was made into a suitable home.

It was nearing the end of his time there, and of course Sherlock had spent nearly the whole summer in his bed, but it had only been their usual pattern of talk and cuddling and sleep. But this time, when Mycroft had turned off the lamp, Sherlock had turned into him and started to run his trembling fingers down his torso. Mycroft’s hands had reacted before his brain, instantly reaching out to grab hold of his little brother’s wrists. Swiftly turning him around so that Sherlock’s back was to his front, he held his arms tight to his chest, his mind reeling. Sherlock had struggled against him, but only slightly, and Mycroft's mind had quickly lit upon the one notion that might actually quiet him and help to turn his mind away from its wicked thoughts.

“You aren’t of age, Sherlock.”

Oddly enough, it had worked. Or perhaps there was just something in the tone of Mycroft’s voice that had made it perfectly clear that it simply was not going to happen - at least not that night. So Sherlock had wilted into his brother’s hold and had once again fallen asleep. Unfortunately, Mycroft had made a glaring error in leaving that potential opening for the future, and both were of course all too aware of that. So three years later, when Sherlock had shown up at his door in the middle of the night, Mycroft had hesitantly let him in, feeling a queasy mix of dread and desire balled up in the pit of his stomach.

He had yet to set up the guest bedroom specifically to Sherlock’s preferences, so he had handed him a pair of his own pyjamas to put on, turning away politely as his little brother had simply started to shed his clothing on the spot. Sherlock had boldly reached out for him as soon as they were both settled in bed with the lights out. Mycroft had tensed almost unbearably at the first curious touch, but had shamefully given in with only the barest of protests.

His first and thankfully only love affair had ended rather unhappily just a couple of months prior, and during the time that he’d had a regular partner, he had become accustomed to a certain level of physical affection. His body and brain craved it, Sherlock had of course read that in him, and had instantly exploited it. Although his touch was exploratory and more than a bit clumsy, he had ultimately succeeded rather admirably in his goal, leaving Mycroft sobbing into a pillow as he came in thick spurts over Sherlock’s fingers. In some ways, he was actually grateful to his little brother for that first occasion, as it had proved as some sort of therapeutic catharsis. The act had enabled him to purge Christopher from his body as well as his mind, and he only thought of him upon the rarest of occasions these days.

“You aren’t reading that at all.”

Mycroft sighed heavily and looked to the door of his room, where Sherlock was bracing himself against the frame, his head tilted curiously. “Well deduced, brother mine.” He smiled gently as Sherlock snorted, closing the book and setting it aside. “I was lost in remembrances.”

“Of us.” Mycroft inclined his head gracefully, unwilling or perhaps unable to say much more. Sherlock stepped into the room and closed the door behind him securely, leaning up against it as he surveyed the man in the bed. “Do you ever wish for more?”

Mycroft blinked at him in surprise. “Had I my way, Sherlock, I would install you here back in your bedroom in my home, where I could look after you and keep you safe. My greatest wish is to see you happy and healthy.” He shook his head as his brother scowled. “But we both know that wouldn’t work. Someone would most likely perish before three months was out.” Mycroft grinned as his little brother broke out into giggles, pushing himself away from the door and taking a couple of steps into the room.

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it, Mycroft.” Keeping his brilliant eyes locked on his brother’s face, he slowly stalked to the end of the bed, lifting one knee and planting it on the mattress. Mycroft swallowed uneasily as Sherlock went to his hands and knees, crawling over his legs and settling down on his lap with a long drawn-out sigh. He ground down subtly, his cheeks pinking as he felt the hard length pressing up against him, even through the layers of bedclothes. “This. Do you ever wish for more than just my hand? Would you like to feel my mouth on you, perhaps?” His keen eyes somehow grew sharper as Mycroft let out a harsh gasp, his skull colliding with the headboard as his body spasmed. “Would you like to fuck me, brother mine? Make me yours completely?”

“Sh-Sherlock…” Mycroft hands clenched into fists before he reached out and grasped hold of his brother’s waist, pulling him down even harder into him. “You know the answer to that. Yes. Yes, I want you. So badly that it pains me, sometimes.” He shook himself and deliberately relaxed his hold before placing the palm of one hand over Sherlock’s groin, still soft and compliant. “But you don’t want me.” He looked up into his brother’s surprise-slackened face, feeling his eyes beginning to well with tears. “You don’t know how it makes me feel when you allow me to use you for my own pleasure, knowing that you’re getting none in return. I must disgust you. I certainly disgust myself.”

“Is that what you think?” Mycroft frowned as Sherlock huffed out a great gust of breath. “And here I was thinking just the opposite. I’m broken, and I thought that because of that you were disgusted with me.” Mycroft’s cheeks blazed as his brother dipped his hand into the waistband of his pyjamas, pulling out his soft cock with an appalling lack of modesty. He flapped it perfunctorily, grinning maliciously at Mycroft’s obvious discomfort. “Doesn’t work. Never has. I thought that maybe once or twice I felt a little something when I fantasised about you, so I thought to touch you to see if anything would happen. Nothing.” He squeezed at himself in frustration. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh. Oh, Sherlock…” Mycroft looked up at him shrewdly as he carefully unwound his brother’s fingers from his flaccid member and entwined them with his. “Has there been no-one else?”

Sherlock blinked at him in confusion. “Of course not. It’s always been you, brother mine. Only you.” He reached out with his free hand to run his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, trailing them over his cheek and down his neck. His brother pushed into his touch, his eyes fluttering beguilingly. Sherlock moaned quietly and shook a little sense back into his brain, meeting his brother’s eyes with his own. “Let me be perfectly clear. I _am_ excited by you, Mycroft. I feel it in my head and in my heart and it makes me happy to bring you pleasure. I would love nothing more than for you to use me to your satisfaction in any manner you desire - just the thought of it makes my heart jump in my chest. I would share my pleasure with you, if I only had the means.” He shook his head again as Mycroft’s brow creased in consternation. “But I don’t. Something in me is damaged, or perhaps missing.”

“You aren’t broken, Sherlock. You are my little brother, and you are utterly perfect just as you are.”

Sherlock smiled down at him crookedly. “Iceman, my arse.” Mycroft snorted out a quick burst of laughter, smiling in return. “Let me show you how much I adore you, Mycroft. Please. Leave the lights on and let me explore you properly.” He leant forward and put his lips to his throat, kissing him tenderly. “Let me hear you. I don’t want this to be kept silent in the dark any longer.”

“It’s wrong, brother mine.” Mycroft’s voice was a mere whisper against his temple, and Sherlock’s body shivered delicately. “So very wrong.”

“By whose standards? We’ve long made up our own rules in order to succeed in this fractious world of ours, who is to say that we can’t make the rules for this as well?” Sherlock sat up again and began to unbutton Mycroft’s top oh-so-slowly, lowering his gaze shyly. “Please, brother dear. Please?”

“As if I could refuse you anything, you insolent brat. It doesn’t help matters at all that you know that very well.” Sherlock smirked as Mycroft’s hands started to help with the unbuttoning, as he shifted and slithered, eagerly shoving the bedclothes away from his brother’s prone form.

“Yes, well…” Sherlock pressed the whole of his hand firmly down on Mycroft’s prominent erection. “This does happen to be speaking rather loudly at the moment.”

They both broke out into spontaneous giggles, and just like that, Mycroft felt his reticence melting away. Sherlock must have seen it in his face, or read it in the relaxed lines of his body as he slowly exposed himself to him, for his eyes began to glow with a subtle joy that made him all the more beautiful to Mycroft’s jaded eyes. Yes, he truly did want this, truly wanted him, no matter what that silly little piece of flesh between his legs was doing. His head swam slightly at the thought that perhaps all of his wickedest imaginings might actually come to life, here in the shelter of his private domain. Mycroft tilted his hips up as his brother tugged eagerly at his pyjama bottoms, fighting the urge to cover himself.

“Sherlock…” The curly head snapped up and the plush lips parted in a smile that was innocent and wicked all at once. “Would you do me the honour - I mean…” Mycroft bit his lip and blushed faintly as he fought the urge to simply order his brother to strip for him. “I should very much like to see the whole of you as well.”

Sherlock’s cheeks went pinker than his, but he nodded slightly and slid off the bed, shucking his clothing off without delay. He stood there for a moment, completely exposed, his eyes raking over his brother’s face. Then he turned slowly as Mycroft sat up, looking at him from over his shoulder as he reached out a hand, hesitating. With a little twist of his lips, Sherlock stuck his arse out in his brother’s direction, moaning quietly as his fingers made contact with his flesh. Mycroft snarled incoherently and spread his hand wide, clutching at the firm muscle hard.

“Magnificent. You truly are a gorgeous specimen, brother mine.” Mycroft sighed as he released him, settling back down into the pillows and spreading his arms wide as he wriggled into the mattress. “I’m all yours, Sherlock. Do with me as you will, but I beg you - be kind.”

Sherlock bit his lip as he turned back, casting a look at his brother’s face that he knew was meant to be seductive, but was instead full of doubt and wonder. Mycroft let a soft gasp escape as Sherlock reached out with one hand and delicately trailed just the tips of his fingers all along the length of his body, from ankle to collarbone. With a low moan, he clambered back onto the mattress and over his legs, settling down onto his lap once again.

Mycroft tilted his head as curious fingers began to wander over his chest, briefly tangling in the ginger hair. “Why, brother mine? Why does this simple thing bring you such comfort?”

Sherlock blushed prettily as he shrugged, plucking at Mycroft’s soft pink nipples, grinning as they instantly hardened under his fingers. He hummed as he slithered down slightly, sticking out his tongue and flickering it over and across the puckered flesh. “I’m not sure I could adequately explain, Myc. I always knew that if I sat here, in your lap, that if you put your arms around me, I could trust you to keep me safe. It allows me to lower my defences, to let the darkness of sleep take me. You keep the monsters away, brother dear. Nobody else could do that for me, not ever.” His plush lips trembled as he glanced up at Mycroft’s face. “It was unbearable for me while you were away. The nightmares never stopped, no matter what I tried. I needed you so badly.”

Mycroft reached up to clasp his face in his hands, bringing him down for their first true kiss, just the barest brush of lips. “I’ll never leave you again, Sherlock. I promise.”

A single tear slipped from one brilliant blue-green eye, sparkling in the light cast from the bedside lamp. “I know, Mycroft. From this point forward, I’m going to do what’s necessary to ensure that you need me just as much as I need you.”

Mycroft growled low as Sherlock smirked down at him, shaking his head slightly. “Devious little brat. Come here.” Sherlock whimpered quietly as he was brought down, as Mycroft ran his tongue along the seam of his lips, encouraging him to open for him, thrusting his tongue into his quivering mouth. He moaned and writhed as his big brother plundered his mouth, invading all of his senses with his presence. Sight and sound and smell and oh - taste, yes, the spicy taste that lingered on his tongue even after he was released, his chest heaving for air.

Mycroft’s eyes softened as he sank back into the pillows, running his hands along every bit of his brother that he could easily reach. Sherlock frowned slightly as he cradled his soft cock in the palm of his hand, squeezing it gently. “Won’t work. I’ve tried everything.”

“Oh, brother dear, brother mine… _I_ haven’t tried everything, now, have I?” Mycroft grinned wickedly as Sherlock gasped and arched his back, thrusting his hips forward even as he ground down. “Besides, even if we can’t wake him, there’s no reason to ignore him either. He’s a lovely little thing, so soft and squishy. He deserves a good stroke or two, I believe…”

Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked up even as his lips thinned. “I hardly took you for the type to anthropomorphise random body parts, Mycroft. It’s such a common, vulgar practice.”

“I haven’t named my penis, if that’s what you’re referring to. But yours…” Mycroft hummed as he squeezed and tugged, perhaps just a touch too viciously. “He’s just so cute. He deserves to have an appropriate pet name, since he’s going to be mine.” Sherlock’s spine crackled faintly as his body seized, a strangled moan passing through his lips. Mycroft’s eyes widened, as he was sure he felt the prize he was cradling so carefully twitch against his palm. But that could have just been the involuntary twisting of his brother’s body and nothing more; certainly not his own wicked desires unexpectedly coming to fruition. “Oh, you like that idea, don’t you, my dear?” He bestowed another squeeze and tug as Sherlock nodded wordlessly. “My soft little beauty.” He grinned up into Sherlock’s disbelieving face. “Beau! He shall be called Beau, and he shall be mine. Perhaps I will get him a teeny-weeny collar, something appropriately sparkly and horribly gauche. He doesn’t seem the refined, understated sort to me.”

Sherlock snorted loudly and then they were both off again, holding onto each other as they giggled uncontrollably. After years of fighting to contain their unbecoming emotions, they were now allowing themselves the freedom to feel, and it was such an overwhelming sensation that of course they were both quite giddy with it. Sherlock sat up and shook his head, once again running his fingers through Mycroft’s chest hair and lower, pressing the palm of his hand firmly down on his stiff shaft. “Do stop petting my disobedient cock, brother mine. It’s terribly distracting.”

Mycroft grinned up at him even as he tilted his hips, grinding up into Sherlock’s touch. “Once you get down there and start sucking mine, Beau will be quite out of my reach, won’t he?”

Sherlock’s dark eyelashes fluttered, and he began to slide downwards over Mycroft’s legs, shivering as ‘Beau’ received a parting tug. He hunkered down over his brother’s groin, blowing a heated breath over his bollocks as he let his tongue loll out, pressing the flat of it right at the base of his cock. Mycroft hissed in a short breath but maintained control of his body, merely wriggling slightly underneath his brother’s careful attentions.

Sherlock buried his nose in the neatly-trimmed patch of ginger curls, inhaling deeply. “So hot, so lovely. Oh, brother mine, but you smell heavenly.” He turned his face and pressed his cheek to his stiff prick, rubbing into it firmly. “Never thought you’d let me have this.”

“You never asked, Sherlock. Let this stand as a reminder that you can’t always assume that I will instinctively know what you need. You must ask.”

Mycroft tilted his head as his brother shot him a decidedly dirty look. “Don’t you try to tell me that you don’t know, Myc. Nobody knows my mind better than you do - not even me.”

Mycroft sighed heavily even as Sherlock licked delicately along his shaft, his touch so light that it almost tickled. “That isn’t the point, brother mine. If you need something from me, _you will ask_.” Each word was deliberately emphasised, and Sherlock felt a swift shudder run up his spine at the authoritative tone, his mouth dropping open in surprise.

_“Oh.”_

“Oh, indeed.” Mycroft sighed again as he reached down to clasp Sherlock’s chin in his hand, running his thumb over his plush lips as he debated. He knew that he was risking running his would-be lover off before they'd had a chance to really begin, but he definitely felt as though Sherlock needed to be quite aware of what he may be getting himself into. “I need you to consider this very carefully, Sherlock. What happens here tonight will set the tone for the relationship to follow. We can keep this light and easy, with you visiting me as before, in order that I may help you sleep. We can romp and gambol every three months or so and thus maintain your sanity. Or…”

Sherlock blinked up at him, opening his mouth for his brother’s persistent digit, curling his tongue around it and sucking gently. He gasped quietly as Mycroft’s fingers tightened on his jaw, pulling his face down back into his groin. He struggled to speak even as he dribbled excess saliva over the head of Mycroft’s prick. “Or?”

Mycroft hardened his gaze as well as his voice, his prick jumping slightly as he considered the intoxicating possibilities opening before him. “Or you become mine, Sherlock. You do as I say when I say and I will accept no excuses for disobedience. And when I say mine, I mean it. Beau will not be the only one with a collar around his neck. You will belong to me completely and utterly - your body, mind and soul will all be mine to cherish or abuse upon nothing more than my whims. My requirements are fairly simple. You will not allow anyone other than myself to touch you in any manner, or else you will suffer very serious consequences. I will not specifically request that you live with me, although I will of course require more access to your body than I have been privy to thus far - at least twice weekly. Depending on my needs, I will use you to my satisfaction and then you will be permitted to leave, or I may require your presence in my bed through the night.” He quirked a crooked grin down at Sherlock’s wide-blown pupils, a steady stream of spittle wending its way out of his mouth, over his hand and down onto his cock. “Like you, I find that I sleep more soundly with my brother beside me. If you concede to give these things to me, then I will do all in my considerable power to treasure you above all else, to keep you safe and sane. You will always know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are deeply loved, Sherlock, and that I would gladly go to an early grave in order to protect you.”

A low moan reverberated through Sherlock’s body, and Mycroft smiled gently as he removed his thumb from his slack mouth, swiping it over the high cheekbone, smearing his brother’s saliva all over his face. Sherlock’s head dropped, the curls trembling against the skin of Mycroft’s belly, and he allowed him the time he needed to gather his senses. When Sherlock finally looked up at him again, his eyes were utterly huge in his face, his cheeks a lovely bright pink. “What must I do?”

Mycroft shrugged even as he ran his fingers over his brow and through his hair, cupping the back of his neck. “I cannot tell you what to do, brother dearest." He shrugged again, bestowing a horribly endearing and oh-so-wicked grin upon his little brother. "At least, not yet... No, you must decide. I will give you all the time you need, but the decision must be made tonight.” He glanced down and touched himself idly with one lazy finger. “If you continue to tease and lick and explore, I’ll know that you wish to remain brothers as well as occasional lovers and little more. But…” Mycroft grasped hold of the base of his prick between thumb and forefinger, abruptly smacking it across Sherlock’s lips. “If you want more... If you agree to give yourself to me with no reservations, then you’ll do as you’re told. You’ll use that gorgeous mouth of yours and suck my cock like you _mean_ it." **  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes his choice...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The muse is really beating it out of me this week - so here is another chapter in my newest Holmescest smutfest! Whee!
> 
> Please do comment, it helps to keep the muse fed. We want her fat and happy, yes? Yes!
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies...

Sherlock shuddered atop him, once more turning his face and pressing his cheek down firmly to Mycroft’s stiff member, nuzzling into his groin and breathing him in. Mycroft allowed him his moment, keeping silent as his brother contemplated the potential shift in their lives together. In many ways, they already belonged to each other in any sense that mattered at all - their minds were so perfectly suited for one another that they could almost communicate without need of words. Their hearts had been intertwined since before Sherlock could even speak, when Mycroft had first lifted him from his cradle in the middle of the night and made the darkness disappear.  

Even if he did not allow his brother unlimited access to his body, Sherlock knew that his words would remain true. He would still do all within his ability to ensure that he was kept safe and protected, to make him feel loved above all else in his life. He didn’t have to change anything if he really didn’t want to. They would still be together in one form or another. But no. He felt that he had been remiss in his gratitude, and he wished to rectify that. Not only did he want to thank his brother for all that he had done for him, he wanted him to be physically satiated enough to ensure that his eyes would not wander, that his heart would be kept firmly in his grasp.

Sherlock knew himself to be a greedy and selfish little boy at heart, and of course this wasn’t any different. He wanted to keep Mycroft all to himself, and the only way to make sure that would happen would be to offer the entirety of himself in return. Besides which, even if his own traitorous body would not respond to Mycroft’s loving attentions, he still wanted to feel him deep inside. He wanted his brother to fill him to overflowing with his love, his desire, his seed, oh yes. He wanted to be taken by him, to be made his in the most basic, bestial way that there was. He wanted to be marked, inside and out, and he wanted people to know it.

The idea that his brother would brazenly put a collar around his neck absolutely thrilled him to his core. Unlike ‘Beau’, his adornment most likely would be something refined and elegant, a simple eternity band, perhaps. Sherlock stretched his neck slightly, humming as Mycroft’s fingers combed lazily through his curls. Yes, something subtle and yet solid, a reminder that he would be able to carry with him always, only a touch away. He shivered delicately as his brother’s fingers traced along the cords of his neck, perhaps reading his thoughts as easily as ever. God, yes, he wanted that. He wanted his brother in every way imaginable, and he wanted him to want him in return.

So he stretched and shifted and slithered atop Mycroft’s body, pushing himself up slightly and arching his back, sticking his arse up in the air for his brother’s viewing pleasure. He glanced up at his face, his cool grey eyes looking down at him with undisguised fondness and more than a bit of stark lust. Sherlock shuddered pleasantly and once again stuck out his tongue, running it firmly along the underside of his brother’s cock, and then he opened his mouth wide and took as much of him in as he could comfortably fit. And then he _sucked_.

Mycroft’s hand clutched at his shoulder as Sherlock pulled off with an obscene slurp, only to immediately dive back down again. The noise his brother made could almost be construed as a sob, and Sherlock shivered at the sound of it, the way it reverberated through his core. He continued to suck and bob his head, slowly taking in a bit more of his brother’s cock every time he moved, looking up from his task, seeking Mycroft’s face, trying to gauge his expression. When he found it, he felt a swift thrill course up his spine and his heart expand slightly in his chest.

Mycroft smiled down at him, his eyes full of fire and anticipation even as a solitary tear trickled down his cheek. “What you’re offering me, Sherlock… It’s more than I could have ever hoped or dreamed for. You make me so happy. Truly, I am the luckiest man alive.” Sherlock hummed low in his chest, feeling his cheeks warm at his brother’s words, at the devotion and promise in his voice. Mycroft ran his fingers up the side of his neck, hooking them under his jaw briefly. “That’s it. You’re doing very well for a beginner, my love. Keep your eyes on me, just like that.” Mycroft let out a shaky breath as Sherlock’s eyes widened, as he fought to keep them on his face. “Such a beautiful mouth, such pink plush lips. It’s like you were made just for me, made to take my cock like the gorgeous little slut you are. All mine - no-one else will ever have you this way.” He tilted his head, smiling crookedly. “Unless it’s my desire to watch you with someone else, of course. I have thought about that, Sherlock. When I’ve had to take myself in hand to relieve my tension, I would often think of you to aid in the process. Many times I have envisioned you being violated under my care, being forced to entertain two or three or more strangers all at once. What do you think of that, my little pleasure-doll?”

Sherlock moaned quietly and pulled off long enough to answer. “As long as you’re there, I know that I’ll be safe. You can do with me as you like, Mycroft, I swear. As long as you are always there with me.” He resumed sucking his brother’s cock with another small moan, once again forcing himself to take him in a little deeper on every stroke.

Mycroft hissed quietly. “Oh yes. Yes, that’s certainly something to consider, isn’t it? But not for a while. Not until I’ve broken you in properly, bent you to my will completely. I may share you out during your training period, but only with someone well trusted by both of us.” He licked his lips as Sherlock did something clever with his tongue, a little swirl around the head of his prick, a little flicker along the slit. “Just like that, brother mine, oh yes…” Mycroft shook his head as he tried to pick up the train of his thoughts, even as his little brother threatened to derail them completely. “Only one individual immediately comes to mind, though. I wonder if you might be thinking of the same person.”

Sherlock hummed and pulled off again, panting slightly as he reached up to tweak Mycroft’s bollocks and stroke his soaking wet prick. He glanced down before locking eyes on his brother’s face again, not wanting to incur his wrath at this early stage. “Lestrade, of course.”

Mycroft smiled broadly as Sherlock gave him a healthy squeeze. “Mm. It wouldn’t be too arduous a trial, then?” Sherlock blushed fiercely as he shook his head ever so slightly. “Thought not. It’s perhaps fortuitous that we seem to share the same taste in men. Not that you’ll have the opportunity to choose after tonight. Unless I happen to be feeling charitable…” Sherlock shuddered delightfully and once more closed the ring of his lips around his brother’s girth, sliding down further than any of his previous attempts. He still hadn’t quite succeeded in taking him all in, after all, the cock that he was feasting on was rather a healthy specimen. “Oh dear… Not that I wish to rush you through your maiden voyage, brother mine, but I am getting rather impatient.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked even as his eyes narrowed, and he truly had to fight back on his instinct to snark at his elder brother. Mycroft might still tolerate his sharp tongue with his usual grace, but Sherlock had a feeling that a clever repartee certainly would not fly at this particular stage of their enhanced relationship. No, he knew better than to risk it - right now he had to be good, had to be obedient. But he also didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and he was depending on Mycroft to instruct him on how best to pleasure him. So he swallowed his pride and the excess saliva that had been building in his mouth as he once again pulled off, keeping his voice low and sweet. “What would you have me do, brother? I must confess that I’m a bit at sea, here.”

He was a bit taken aback by Mycroft’s broad grin, but simply ducked his head back down to once again nuzzle into the tight curls at the base of his prick, taking comfort in his brother’s natural scent. “Oh, but that’s it. There’s no shame in admitting that you’re feeling a bit lost, my love. Again, if you need help, ask for it. I will generally be content enough to allow you the freedom to explore. I love watching that flash of discovery light up in your eyes, love knowing that I am the cause. It’s just that right now I find myself a bit overwhelmed with the freedom that you have offered me, and my usual control is definitely lacking.” With a rather startling swiftness, Mycroft sat up and pushed Sherlock off his legs and over onto his back, abruptly straddling his chest. He grabbed both wrists in one hand and pushed them down onto the mattress over his brother’s head, holding them fast.

Sherlock was left blinking up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, his mouth hanging open listlessly. “Now. I am going to take you, my dear little brother. I am going to fuck your face and you will most likely choke on my cock a bit. I must admit that I can be quite a brute at times - I like knowing that my partner is struggling to take me in, but that they are eager to do it anyway, in order to please me. I will not want to stop unless you _make_ me stop.” Mycroft gave his hands a little shake. “You will do that by balling both hands into a fist. Show me now.” Sherlock blinked some more and clenched both of his hands tight, pushing against his brother’s hold. “Yes, like that. Now relax.” Sherlock felt his whole body shiver as he let his hands fall open again. “Lovely. I do hope that you remain as obedient once the novelty of our new situation has worn off. I would so hate to have to discipline you.”

Oh, but the darkness in his eyes certainly exposed that lie for what it was, and Sherlock’s body gave one solid jerk at the implication. Mycroft’s lips twisted with mirth as his eyes widened in glorious expectation, and Sherlock was startled to feel a very distinct twitch down below. Mycroft tilted his head at the look on his face, something in his expression softening slightly. He shifted just a tad higher, reaching down to grasp the base of his cock, running it idly over his brother’s bottom lip. Sherlock’s tongue darted out to taste it, his eyes rolling back slightly with pleasure.

“Sherlock.”

He forced his eyes open again, focusing on the familiar, well-loved face of his elder brother. He heard the question in the stark syllables of his name, knowing that Mycroft was asking for permission one last time. After this, he would be his completely, and he simply wanted to ensure that it was what he truly desired.

Sherlock smirked slightly even as his lips were painted with his brother’s pre-come. “Still so considerate, brother mine.” He took in a deep breath, willing his wildly beating heart to calm itself, so that he may speak without an unbecoming quaver in his voice. “Yes. I want this - I want _you_ \- with every fibre of my being. Yes to anything and everything you desire, no matter how dark and twisted or loving. Yes to it all, but especially yes to you. To you, for you. I am yours, Mycroft, and you are free to do to me as you will.” He swallowed and licked his lips, his tongue once more glancing off the slit of his brother’s prick, capturing a drop of the pearly liquid beading up. “This I do swear to you. I have long been yours, I have merely been waiting for you to claim your prize. Claim it now, brother.”

With that, he let his mouth fall open in eager anticipation, not too much, just enough to stand as an invitation, taking in long breaths through his nose as he waited. “Oh, Sherlock…” Mycroft’s voice was but a low moan as he pushed into his mouth gently, leaving just the head of his prick nestled on Sherlock’s tongue. He closed the ring of his lips and sucked lightly, looking up into a face that was absolutely beautiful and yet nearly already wrecked, a solitary curl drooping over his brother's high, intelligent brow, his cool grey eyes somehow soft and loving but hard and greedy all at once.

With only that faint exhalation, his brother shifted atop him once again, his knees pressing hard against his upper ribcage, his torso bending over his defenceless head. The pressure on his wrists increased as Mycroft’s body weight settled down a bit more firmly, but Sherlock didn’t feel any urge to resist, letting his entire body go limp as the thick flesh nestled against his tongue was pressed in deeper in a long, slow glide. He hummed as Mycroft withdrew slightly, closing his eyes and continuing to breathe steadily through his nose. Once, twice more his brother thrust into him, moving almost achingly slowly and clearly not as deeply as he would have liked. Sherlock could feel the trembling in his thigh muscles as he held himself back, obviously doing what he could to ensure that his little brother was somewhat comfortable.

But Sherlock didn’t want comfortable, he wanted to be used. So he did what he could to facilitate that, stretching his neck up just so, attempting to open his throat while still keeping a tight seal around his brother’s stiff prick, humming low in his chest. Mycroft cursed quietly and took him up on his challenge, abruptly shoving his hips down hard. He cursed again with a low moan as Sherlock choked quietly, immediately withdrawing just enough to allow him to take in another careful breath before thrusting deeply once more. He gagged a little more forcefully this time, feeling his throat spasm around the head of Mycroft’s cock as it was shoved in deeper and deeper still.

He became aware of a low litany of filth spewing from his brother’s mouth from between his harsh gasps for air, a constant but nearly silent stream of consciousness that sounded like little more than a recitation of some of the worst porn that Sherlock had ever come across. “Yes, like that you filthy little whore take my cock like you mean it you want it don’t you slut take it take it suck that thick cock you love it don’t you love that taste choke on it take it deeper want me to come don’t you whore want my load down your throat oh fuck yes just like that mine mine all mine gonna give you what you need gonna make you beg for it yes yes _yesss_ …”

Sherlock might have laughed except that there was nothing there that wasn’t true. Yes, he did want it, all of it. He wanted his throat to be fucked raw, wanted to drink down his brother’s release as it was pumped into him, wanted to prove his love for him by being made into his fucktoy. He wanted to be his brother’s personal whore, and it filled him with such indescribable pleasure that his brother apparently wanted the very same thing. So he continued to hum and perhaps the next gagging fit was just a bit exaggerated for Mycroft’s benefit, but it seemed to do the job as his thrusts became somehow shallower and yet more frenzied, as the weight on his wrists increased and his other hand became tangled in Sherlock’s hair. As that lovely thick flesh swelled and started to jump against his tongue, his brother’s fingers tangled and twisted and pulled hard, and Sherlock suddenly felt a swift burst of warmth somewhere down below, his hips rising from the bed as his head swam with a sudden loss of blood and dearth of air. Once again the fingers twisted and yanked as he began to choke on the semen flooding his mouth, his eyes flying open wide as Mycroft withdrew and pumped the rest of his release over his chin and cheeks, cursing vociferously.

Sherlock swallowed thickly and moaned, writhing his body against the mattress. “Again, brother mine. Again.” Mycroft’s eyebrows drew together as he looked down at him in confusion, sweat dribbling from his temples as his chest heaved for air. Sherlock nudged against the hand still holding tight to his curls, flexing his hands until Mycroft released his wrists, reluctantly bringing that hand down to rest on the other side of his head. Sherlock nodded briefly as his brother’s elegant fingers started to play in the sweat-soaked hair. “Yes, that. Again. Oh, _please_.” Mycroft bit his lip and obliged, tugging viciously, his eyes widening as Sherlock moaned from deep in his belly, his back arching so strongly that it was only his weight upon his chest that kept him on the mattress at all.

When his body had once again relaxed underneath his, Mycroft took special care in unwinding his fingers as he shifted himself to Sherlock’s side, looking down his body. With a little derisive snort, he reached out and grasped hold of his brother’s apparently fully-functioning cock, flushed bright red and leaking copiously. “Pain? That’s the solution to your little dilemma?” He scoffed quietly even as he tugged at him gently. “Sherlock my dear, one would have thought that would have been an easy enough theory to test.”

Sherlock pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at his own erection in shock. “I did!” He twisted at one of his nipples viciously, hissing at the discomfort. “Pain is pain, brother mine, and I was never aroused by it before. I don’t understand…”

Mycroft’s eyes gentled even as he reached down, hooking his fingers into claws and scraping his nails along the sensitive flesh of his brother’s inner thigh. Sherlock shuddered delightfully and threw his head back as he moaned again, his cock jumping in Mycroft’s hand, letting out another burst of pre-ejaculate. “Because the pain was not bestowed by me, Sherlock.” He tilted his head as he stared at his little brother’s face, his own eyes full of wonder. “You truly have belonged to me all this time, haven’t you? Oh, Sherlock…” His voice dropped into something lost and mournful. “I could have given this to you so many years ago. I have failed you, brother mine.”

“No, neither of us knew. Don’t think of it as failure, Mycroft. Think of it as a new opportunity.” Sherlock reached out for him desperately, caressing his arm, his thigh, anywhere he could reach. “Make it up to me, brother. Hurt me - abuse me. Please, make me feel good. Make me come for you.” His body dropped back onto the mattress as Mycroft grasped his bollocks firmly, twisting and pulling. “Hah God, yes. _Please_ , brother.”

Mycroft appeared to contemplate as he brought his soiled fingers up to his mouth, licking up his little brother’s pre-come even as his eyes roamed over his face, still spattered with the evidence of his own release. He smirked slightly as Sherlock’s eyes widened, a certain desperation lighting them from within. As if he could refuse him anything, especially when he begged with that lovely sweet voice of his. All manner of utterly delicious scenarios were suddenly unfolding in his mind as he stared down upon the beautiful body that now belonged to him. There was certain furniture that would need to be ordered and implements to lay in for future encounters, perhaps a consultation or two with an appropriate contractor. Oh, so many possibilities... But for now, it would have to be fairly simple, wouldn’t it? Simple and quick, for he knew that his poor beleaguered brother would not last long in his current state, oh no.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gives Sherlock what he needs, and then proceeds to take what he wants...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More porny goodness from the lovely Holmes brothers! I'm so loving the direction this is going... Holmescest Smutfest 2k15, yeah!
> 
> Wee! Please do comment, I adore hearing from my fellow perverts!
> 
> ;-p

Mycroft inclined his head gracefully as he clambered over his brother’s body, settling down on the edge of the mattress, planting his feet on the floor. He reached into the drawer of his bedside table and drew out a small bottle of lube, ignoring Sherlock as he rolled to his hands and knees and crawled to his side. Dribbling a bit between his thighs, he gestured expansively. “Arse up, slide that little nuisance of yours right in there.” He leant back, bracing his hands on the bed as his brother laid himself out on top of him rather awkwardly, letting out a quiet moan as his cock slipped into the slick crevice between Mycroft’s legs. “I am going to beat your arse black and blue, and you will frot between my thighs until you come.” He growled low as Sherlock shivered with delight atop him, his enclosed prick jumping at his words. “I do believe that once you’re done I will most likely be eager to fuck you senseless, so I will be opening you up in anticipation of that. Any objections?”

“No, brother. I am yours to do with as you like.”

Mycroft sighed happily as he ran one hand down the long line of his brother’s spine. “Oh, that is lovely. I may make you say that at least once every day, my heart, my love. Mine.” He continued to pet Sherlock softly. “I’m sure that it hasn’t escaped your notice that I’m taking care to tell you what actions I will take and what I expect of you in return.”

Sherlock nodded briefly, striving valiantly to keep from thrusting into the wet heat between his brother’s legs. “Yes, of course.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only going to do that during your training period, which will last as long as I deem it necessary. I don’t want you to be startled by my actions, nor do I wish to be forced to punish you if you don’t perform to my satisfaction without my having outlined what is expected of you in advance.” Mycroft’s voice hardened slightly as he twisted his fingers in his brother’s curls and pulled. “Make no mistake, there will come a time when I will expect you to read my intentions on my face and in my body and that you will immediately make yourself available to me however I desire. I will require absolute obedience, brother mine.”

“Ah! Y-yes, Mycroft. I understand.” Sherlock writhed mindlessly across his lap, moaning as his hair was released, as his brother once again began to stroke his back.

“Of course you do.” Mycroft reached for the bottle of lube again and dribbled a little of it down the crack of Sherlock’s arse, chuckling as he squirmed at the cold. He smeared it around a bit, humming with approval as his brother’s thighs parted, as his arse went up in eager anticipation. He bestowed a swift and wicked pinch to his perineum, smiling broadly as the figure lying prone atop him gasped and thrust down slightly. “That’s it, brother mine. I’ll give you just what you need.”

With that, he lifted his hand and brought it down hard, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of his brother’s surprisingly plush behind. Sherlock gasped and moaned and writhed, seeking more friction, more pressure, more anything. Mycroft hummed and lifted his right hand again, laying down a swift flurry of blows, watching with equal measures of delight and greed as the flesh started to go pink and then bright red under his hand. Sherlock clutched the bedclothes in his hands as he braced himself on his elbows, driving his stiff prick into the slick channel between his brother’s thighs as he was spanked quite relentlessly.

Mycroft abruptly planted his hand on the small of his brother’s back, holding him down hard. Sherlock whined and writhed against his strength, but after a moment he subsided, breathing hard as he dipped his head submissively, holding himself as still as his violently trembling body would allow. “Oh, but you are a lovely thing.” Grasping hold of one arse-cheek, Mycroft swiftly tugged as he slid his left hand down the crack of his arse, slipping his middle finger in without warning. He grinned wickedly at the strangled noise that burst from Sherlock’s mouth, a garbled protest and encouraging moan all at once.

He tensed the muscles in his thighs even as he probed deeper, once again raising his right arm and landing strike after strike. Sherlock moaned lustily atop him, the rhythm of his thrusting beginning to wobble slightly. Somewhere in there Mycroft managed to slip another finger in, not too deep, no - just far enough to push past the second ring of muscle, grinning fiercely as he felt the heat of his brother’s body burst into a supernova, as the sphincter clamped down tight and began to spasm wildly. He felt the swift rush of hot fluid spurting against his thighs as Sherlock let out an almost agonised yell, his entire body going utterly still before beginning to shudder violently over him.

Mycroft’s grin threatened to split his face in half as he hooked his fingers deeper into his brother’s body, reaching down and in between to pinch and twist at the sensitive skin of his bollocks and perineum, at his inner thighs and on top of the burgeoning bruises flowering on his arse. Sherlock shoved his face into the mattress and shouted again, but Mycroft was rewarded for his viciousness by yet another wild jerk, yet another couple of blasts of hot liquid shooting from his precious baby brother’s cock. Sherlock whined quietly and thrashed over his lap, panting out low grunting moans with every harsh breath.

Mycroft took a small amount of pity and removed his hands, leaning back slightly as he let the tension in his legs relax by increments. He watched with an unbecoming amount of pride as Sherlock’s body twitched and shuddered, his aftershocks finally tapering off as he fairly melted into his lap. With a quiet hum, he reached down between them and scooped up some of the prodigious mess that had been left behind, smearing it all along the small of his brother’s back and down across his plump arse.

“Filthy boy.” Sherlock broke out into startled giggles but froze absolutely still as Mycroft abruptly shoved two fingers back into his hole. “Mm. So dirty, yes. Had I a bit more patience, I would require that you clean me up with that sharp tongue of yours. However…” He withdrew and delivered two more devastating smacks. “I cannot hold myself back. I need to take you now.” He shoved at his brother’s body, and Sherlock scrambled to regain his feet, swaying in front of him uncertainly.

Without bothering to speak, Mycroft stood and roughly pushed him into bending over the edge of the bed, swiftly knocking his thighs apart with his knee. He did at least take a moment to spread some lube over his stiff prick before placing the tip at his brother’s arsehole, pushing his way in carefully. He didn’t stop moving forward, even as Sherlock jerked and cursed quietly underneath him, holding tight to the bedclothes as he mashed his face into the mattress.

Mycroft hummed low as his hips met his brother’s backside, wriggling his way in deeper as he bent down over his prone body. He purred contentedly as he put his mouth to Sherlock’s ear, nuzzling their cheeks together as he seated himself fully. “How do I feel, brother mine?”

Sherlock shuddered and attempted to raise his arse up a bit higher, moaning quietly. “Oh, it _burns_ , brother dearest. Burns so exquisitely and you fill me up so nicely… Waited so long for this - I never want to let you go.”

“I haven’t the words to express my joy that you did wait for me, my love. This tight virgin arse of yours is sublime - knowing that I am the first to violate you in this manner, oh. Oh, Sherlock… You will absolutely _spoil_ me for anyone else, you greedy thing.”

“Good.” Mycroft chuckled darkly as he ran his teeth along his brother’s shoulder, rolling his hips slightly and grinding into him. “Brother… I can feel your need throbbing inside me. Take me, Mycroft. Use me. Please, oh please.”

“Oh, my dear… Are you truly that desperate to be defiled?”

Sherlock moaned and writhed again. “By you, yes. Yes, I want you to ruin me, brother. Desecrate me, ravage me - scrape me down to nothing. Leave me a desolate wasteland so that I can be sown with your seed and re-born as your greatest desire. Take me as yours and transfigure me in your image.”

Mycroft felt himself go utterly still at his brother’s words, even his breath coming to a rattling halt in his lungs. “Oh. Oh, my heart. If you only knew…” He deliberately took in a deep breath and once again nuzzled at his brother’s cheek, at the nape of his neck. “Such allure in your wicked poetry. You seem to be attempting to weave a witch’s spell, hoping to ensnare me with your delights. Don’t you know that I am already yours, just as you are mine? Your magics are not needed here, brother mine. Just tell me what you want, and I would have you speak plainly to me.”

Sherlock growled underneath him. “I want you to fuck me, brother. Fuck me hard, fuck me raw. I want to feel you piercing my insides and I want to feel your hot come pouring into me and dripping back out. Mycroft - brother - just _fuck me_ senseless.”

Mycroft took in a deep breath and abruptly straightened, hooking his fingers into claws and dragging them ruthlessly down the long line of his brother’s spine, marring the porcelain flesh as Sherlock gasped and twisted with delight. “You. Amoral. Filthy. Wicked. Vile. Beast!” Each word was emphasised by a long, hard thrust, shoving the air out of Sherlock’s mouth with a quiet whine accompanying it.

Sherlock could only hold on as Mycroft’s hands clamped down hard around his hips, bruises in the shape of his fingers already beginning to bloom. Unlike when Mycroft had been violating his mouth, his brother didn’t speak beyond his first opening salvo, choosing instead to use all of his breath and concentration on fucking him quite sincerely, ramming that lovely thick hard cock of his in deep and strong and quick. Sherlock tried to grunt out something approximating encouragement, but that was cut off abruptly with one hand over his mouth and a hissed warning. He blinked rapidly as he tried to nod, tried to agree, but Mycroft was seemingly lost in the bliss of his body as he paid him no mind.

But that was right, just as it should be - his big brother using his body as was his right, his privilege. The hand moved suddenly from his mouth to his hair, and no matter how hard he tried, Sherlock could not resist letting out a high warbling note of surprise and pure ecstasy as it was tugged hard, Mycroft using his poor battered head as leverage to grind deeper into his body. His other hand came up from where it had been clutching his hipbone tight, once more scraping and scratching at his delicate flesh, worming its way under his torso where it found and pinched a nipple, twisting viciously.

Mycroft grinned to himself as he continued to thrust, attacking his little brother’s beautiful body with his nails, with his cock, marking him up as his both inside and out. He knew from the increased tightness in Sherlock’s channel, from the trembling in his thighs, that he had become hard again from the delicious pain that he was delivering to him, and that he was hanging on the precipice of coming yet again. Feeling that swirling warmth deep in his own bollocks, he was encouraged to thrust just a bit faster and he pulled his brother close to him by his hair, ignoring the delighted moan that it garnered him. Taking in a deep breath and holding it briefly, Mycroft sank his teeth into Sherlock’s neck and bit down hard, grunting his own pleasure into his little brother’s flesh as he jerked and shuddered against him, watching with wide and satisfied eyes as he came untouched, thick spurts of semen spattering over his duvet.

Sherlock’s spasming body brought Mycroft to his own finish in a swift rush of euphoria and heat, his head spinning alarmingly as he pumped all that he had into his brother’s body, grunting wordlessly into the flesh that was trapped in his teeth. Sherlock drooped into his hold, only the arm around his torso and the hand in his hair keeping him upright as he twitched with the odd aftershock here and there. Mycroft slowly released the pressure on his jaws as he lowered him to the mattress once again, bracing his hands on either side of his torso as he kept their bodies locked together.

Once he had regained some semblance of normality, his breathing steady and head no longer spinning quite as alarmingly, he stood straight, clutching Sherlock’s arse-cheeks in both hands and spreading them. He looked down at where they were still connected, his little brother’s hole puffy and red, stretched around his still-hard cock. Withdrawing only slightly, Mycroft moaned quietly as a little dribble of his come started to drip from Sherlock’s thoroughly deflowered bum. He spread those plush cheeks even further and once again shoved himself in ruthlessly, rolling his hips and delighting in the slick tightness, feeling the possession of his brother’s body deep in his bones, somehow.

_“Mine.”_ Mycroft almost wanted to laugh at himself, at the ridiculousness of behaving as some sort of crude Alpha caveman. But he could not deny the primal intensity of his feelings, nor did he really want to. After all, that was what they both wanted, was it not?

Sherlock definitely seemed to agree, as his arse was tilted up in mute invitation, one brilliant blue-green eye sparkling up at him with his cheek mashed uncomfortably into the mattress. He hummed a lazy acknowledgement, stretching out his abused body for Mycroft to appreciate. And appreciate it he did, keeping his cock firmly in place as he reached up to reverently trace along the scratch-marks criss-crossing his back, to circle and poke at the curved indentations his teeth had left behind on his elegant neck, the skin already flowering into what promised to be an utterly gorgeous mark. Mycroft leant back and surveyed his brother’s purpled arse-cheeks, caressing them and squeezing oh-so-gently in worshipful adoration.

“Oh my beloved… My treasure.” Mycroft watched with amusement as Sherlock’s cheeks pinked almost unbearably, one hand coming up to cover his face in embarrassment. “No, don’t hide yourself away from me. You’re mine now, and I wish to see every little bit of you. In fact…” He hummed quietly as he finally withdrew, a small shiver racing up his spine at Sherlock’s low moan of disappointment. Crouching behind his thoroughly despoiled little brother, Mycroft reached out and once more spread his cheeks, gazing on his handiwork with satisfaction and pride. Sherlock’s arsehole fluttered under his careful consideration, inducing a fresh wave of his release to come dribbling out. Without thinking on it too hard, Mycroft ducked his head closer and licked at the soft sack of his brother’s bollocks, swiping at it with his tongue and spreading it around.

Sherlock moaned lustfully as Mycroft licked and nuzzled, once again sliding his fingers in deep and feeling his way around carefully. His body jerked as his brother found his prostate, stroking it gently from within. He jerked again and shouted into the mattress as Mycroft turned his head and sank his teeth into one of the bruises left behind by his hand earlier. Leaving one hand buried deep, Mycroft reached up between Sherlock’s legs and squeezed at his prick, almost-but-not-quite-half-hard. His brother took in a great gasp of air and tried to reach behind him, patting awkwardly at Mycroft’s hair.

“I don’t...t-think there’s anything l-left, brother. Please…”

Mycroft chuckled darkly against the purplish-red flesh of Sherlock’s arse-cheeks as his fingers moved within him. “Oh, brother dear. There’s always something left. And you’ve been stopped up for such a very long time…” He hummed in curious regard as he caressed the spongy mass, finally settling it in between two fingers. He pressed down hard and dragged the tips of his fingers down, squeezing it ruthlessly. Sherlock choked out a garbled protest as his back bowed almost intolerably, and Mycroft was rewarded for his cruelty with a swift jet of hot fluid against his palm. He cooed with delight and cradled his poor brother’s cock as he did it again, capturing his release once more. “One more, my dear, and then I do believe that you will be quite empty.”

“Mycroft - brother - please, _no._  Please.”

Mycroft snarled and did it twice more, only slightly surprised that he got results with both applications of his brute force. With a swift snap of his knees, he was standing, still holding his well-earned prize carefully in his cupped hand. He reached up and took hold of his brother’s hair and pulled his head back forcefully, putting it to his mouth. “Drink, Sherlock. Lap it all up like the filthy little beast that you are, and remember that you are never to refuse me anything that I should desire to do to you.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation and then Sherlock did exactly as he was ordered to, carefully licking up every last drop, reaching up to cradle his brother’s palm to his mouth to make sure that he got it all. He turned his face to nuzzle his cheek into Mycroft’s hand, his eyes bright and fevered. “No, brother. I won’t forget. I am yours, and you can do to me as you like.”

Mycroft’s brain flared with an absolute jolt of power, which quickly faded into a warmth suffusing his chest and belly. With a low moan, he went to his knees at his brother’s side, bringing his face up to his, bestowing gentle kisses on his temple and cheek and mouth, tasting the sweetness of Sherlock’s come lingering on his lips. He smiled softly as he withdrew, licking at his own lips. “I’ll have to have myself a proper taste of you tomorrow. For now, I do believe that you are wrung quite dry, and although I would dearly like to take you yet again, my traitorous cock seems to be unheeding of my desires.” His smile turned into a wicked grin as Sherlock snorted weakly. “If only I could order it into submission as I do you…”

“If only you could, brother dearest. But then, I don’t think either of us would be able to survive that.”

Mycroft growled low as he darted in to nip at Sherlock’s plush lower lip. “No. All other earthly considerations would surely be ignored in favour of sinking into that utterly divine arse of yours time and time again. Oh, but it would be a glorious death…” His little brother giggled against his lips, and Mycroft pulled him in closer, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. “Oh, my love, my heart…” Sherlock hummed and nuzzled into his neck, sighing happily. “Come, let’s get ourselves cleaned up a bit and then we will take our rest together. I will keep your monsters at bay while you sleep, and you shall entertain me in my dreams.”

“And then tomorrow, I will entertain you in reality.”

“Indeed, you shall.”

Mycroft's wicked grin faded as his little brother looked up at him with eyes the colour of the tropical sea, a look of utter bliss transforming his face into that of an angel. "And for the rest of my days, brother mine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little clean-up, a bit of panic, but Mycroft knows just how to make it all better...

Mycroft blinked down at him in reverent silence before reluctantly loosening his hold on the pliant body held close to his, sliding back off the bed and holding out a hand. Sherlock twisted and writhed momentarily before regaining his feet, instantly reaching out for support as he swayed somewhat dangerously. His brother wrapped a strong arm around his waist as he led him out of his room and into the bathroom at the end of the hall.

It had been remodelled a couple of years back, taking up some of the additional room that had stood adjacent. It had originally been a nursery, and as such was too small to use as an office or guest room. After the remodel, the remaining space had been re-purposed into a neatly organised storage cupboard for some of Mycroft’s older files and some frivolous items that he had kept from his childhood. Occasionally he would pull down a box and rifle through it, snorting derisively at himself at the unbecoming emotions that would flood his body. He would giggle at Peter Rabbit’s shenanigans and pull out his old stuffed owl for a quick and almost shameful snuggle. Once all of the items were safely stored away again, so too were his emotions, and he would be safe to operate as the Iceman once again.

As a result of taking some of that space, the new bathroom was lavishly huge, with both a large soaking tub and a separate walk-in shower. Mycroft immediately determined that a simple wipe-down would not be enough, not with as thoroughly as he had defiled his little brother’s body. And although he personally would have preferred a soothing bath, with the state that they were both in, there was no guarantee that either if not both would fall prey to the enticing warmth of water all around them and fall fast asleep. Since Mycroft did not relish the idea of being transformed into a human raisin and awakening in what would surely amount to little more than a bowl of ice water, he instead chose to tug Sherlock in the direction of the shower.

He stepped in first, making sure that the spray wasn’t too hot or too harsh, all too mindful of the numerous scrapes along his poor brother’s back. Sherlock blinked at him sleepily as he was pulled in after him, simply leaning up against the wall of the shower as Mycroft swiftly washed his own body. He pulled him a bit closer after he was rinsed, pressing soft kisses to either temple as he encouraged him to turn around and brace himself against the wall again.

Sherlock let out a soft hiss of discomfort as the water first hit him, but he slowly melted into the heat and the comfort, simply pressing his cheek to the tile and letting his arms dangle. He mindlessly went wherever Mycroft directed him, arching his back into his gentle attentions and spreading his legs to ensure that all of the filth was carefully wiped away. He hummed tunelessly as elegant fingers worked a luscious lather into his curls, as his brother rinsed away all of the suds and looked him over with a loving if critical eye as he turned the water off.

“Gorgeous. You are sheer beauty and perfection, brother mine.” Sherlock was swaddled in a ridiculously plush towel as his body was dabbed dry, as Mycroft stood behind him and carefully ruffled at his wet hair. He shivered delightfully at the lightest of caresses along his abraded skin, at the sensation of his brother’s lips on the bitemark that he had bestowed earlier. “Oh, but I am going to drape you in silks and satins, and anoint you with scented oils. Only the finest of silver and jewels will adorn your body. All for me, Sherlock. I will dress you as the courtesans of old, and while in this house, you will exist only for my pleasure.”

Sherlock turned in his arms, pressing himself close to his lover’s still-damp torso. “Brother…” He felt Mycroft’s body trembling against his as the word came out as little more than a soft sigh, a reverent benediction. “You will spoil me. Don’t you think that perhaps my head is swelled enough as it is?”

Mycroft chuckled quietly as he pressed his lips to his temple, lightly running his fingers down his back and along his arse. “Perhaps. And although you will of course benefit from being pampered like a beloved pet, rest assured that I will do these things strictly for my own delight.”

“You want me to be your dolly.”

“Yes.” The amusement in his brother’s voice was barely restrained, and Sherlock wriggled closer to him as he sighed with utter joy. “While here, with me, you will be my dolly.”

“Oddly enough, I’m rather at peace with that concept.” They giggled together for a moment until Sherlock swayed uncertainly.

Mycroft clutched at his waist as he uncharacteristically tossed the damp towel on the floor. “Come now. You’re barely able to remain standing, and I don’t relish the idea of trying to hoist you over my shoulder and carry you off to bed. As primal and exciting an idea as that is, you’re surprisingly dense for such a skinny little thing. Surely my own legs would give out and we would no doubt be left to languish here until Anthea sent in reinforcements upon noticing my absence. Trifle embarrassing, don’t you think?”

“Not to mention the loss of your extraction team in order to preserve our secret…” Mycroft hummed vaguely as they shuffled down the hall together, coming up short as Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do - do you think that it will always be kept a secret? Will we be able to share this part of our lives with anyone?”

Mycroft blinked down at him for a moment before continuing to move forward, gently leading his brother around to his side of the bed, where it was less, well - crusty. He sat him down and crouched at his knees, petting him softly. “Even if we could - who would we tell, my love? Neither of us has ever been proficient in fostering personal relationships - we have always relied on one another for that kind of intimate connection, which is perhaps why we find ourselves in this situation to begin with…”

“I would have the world know what we are to each other. But I understand why it cannot be.”

“Oh, my heart. I would too.” Mycroft squeezed one of his brother’s knees before standing and gently pushing him into the pillows, sliding into the bed next to him. “And again, I do believe that if we feel the need to tell someone, there is but one individual who may be quite trustworthy…”

Sherlock snorted as the light went out, tucking himself into the curve of his brother’s body, resting his head on his chest and wrapping one arm securely around his waist. “Obsessing over Lestrade again?”

“Jealous, my sweet?”

“Not in the least. I have you firmly in my clutches now, brother mine. No-one else could possibly stand a chance.”

Mycroft chuckled into his brother’s dampened curls, caressing him gently. “Indeed, my beloved. I am now wholly yours, and none other could possibly take my heart.” Sherlock practically purred as he nuzzled into his chest, stretching languidly against him before abruptly dropping off into a deep sleep.

When Sherlock awoke, he was all alone in his brother’s frankly enormous bed, clutching a pillow to his chest as a poor substitute for a warm body. A sharp spike of panic lanced through his head, making him clutch at both it and his stomach as they swirled uncomfortably. He bolted from the bed and practically threw himself down the stairs, completely unheeding of his body’s protestations. A quiet murmur of sound drifted out of Mycroft’s study, and Sherlock came skidding to a halt just outside, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to regain his breath.

“Yes, Anthea, the whole day. This particular episode was a rather bad one, and my brother needs me to stay with him. I should be back at the office as per usual tomorrow. If there is anything truly, and I mean _truly_ , important, try to reschedule it for later this afternoon and I will attempt to make it in. But I don’t recall seeing anything on the schedule that qualifies… No? Excellent. I do appreciate your assistance, my dear, and as always, if anything comes up, please do keep me notified. Otherwise, I leave it all in your extremely capable hands. Yes, of course I will. Until tomorrow, then.”

Sherlock bit his lip as he debated whether to go back upstairs and crawl back into bed, but his need to see his brother was nearly overwhelming. He needed to reassure himself of his presence and of their newly awakened status as lovers, or more than - he needed to feel his brother holding him so tight that his ribs creaked with his strength. But of course he didn’t have to debate for long, as there was a soft sigh from behind the nearly-closed door.

“Sherlock, my dear. Anthea sends her regards.” Sherlock decided to take that as permission to enter, not really caring if Mycroft didn’t mean it that way. He needed to see him too badly, needed to prostrate himself at his feet. So that’s exactly what he did, heedlessly throwing the door open and rushing to his brother, instantly going to his knees and throwing his arms around his legs. Mycroft blinked down at him in silence for a long while, Sherlock’s trembling vibrating through his body. “But what is this? What has you so shaken, my darling?”

“I - I woke up and you weren’t there, brother.” Sherlock squeezed just a bit harder, burying his face in Mycroft’s dressing gown and spoke again, his voice a mere murmur. “You weren’t _there_. You promised you’d never leave me.”

“Oh dear…” Mycroft hummed as he reached down to caress his brother’s hair. “I meant what I said, brother mine. I will never leave you. But you know very well that my schedule is sometimes erratic and that I must quit my bed at odd hours. Your own sleep is too precious a thing for me to interrupt, so of course I will leave you to it. If you are in my home, in my bed, and you happen to wake alone, know absolutely that I am nearby. If I find myself called away for any reason, then I will wake you and tell you. I can promise you that, at the very least. You’ll never wake to an empty house and an impersonal note, even if you are waking to an empty bed. Will that suffice?”

Sherlock shrugged despondently. “I suppose it must.”

Mycroft chuckled slightly. “Yes, I’m afraid so. And I do apologise, Sherlock. I suppose I should have anticipated something like this, considering the intensity of our encounter last night. Many momentous things were said and done, and it still feels all a bit fantastic, doesn’t it?” He clasped the nape of his brother’s neck and squeezed gently, smiling as he felt him nod shakily under his hand. “Come. I have a notion that may serve to reassure the both of us. We must make whatever this is solid and real in the light of day, yes?”

Sherlock’s nod was much more enthusiastic this time, and he pulled his face away from the shelter of the satiny fabric sheathing his brother’s body, chancing a glance up at his face. “Yes, brother mine. Please.”

“Release me.” Sherlock frowned and clutched at his brother’s legs just a little tighter before complying, letting out a shaky breath as Mycroft calmly walked around him, heading for the leather sofa. He tugged at the ties of his robe as he moved, and Sherlock felt a little spark of desire at realising that he was bare underneath. He’d been too preoccupied with his own dark thoughts to even notice before… Mycroft smirked at him as he settled down on the middle cushion, throwing his dressing gown wide. As Sherlock watched, a low moan rising in his chest, his brother’s lovely cock twitched invitingly, beginning to plump under his appreciative gaze. “Come here, Sherlock.” Without thinking, he obeyed, crawling over to him silently, his eyes fixed on his prize.

He stopped just short of Mycroft’s bare legs, taking a moment to plant his hands on the area rug and arch his back, stretching like some great black cat. He had mostly been unaware of all of the little aches and pains lingering from the night before, but now that he was fully awake and all too aware of his own body, they were making themselves known. Mycroft’s soft groan of appreciation and delighted chuckle made his spine twist with desire, and he looked up, catching his eyes and blushing fiercely at the look of pride shining in them.

“Bit stiff, brother dearest? A little sore, perhaps?” Sherlock bit his lip as he nodded, shuffling forward until his knees were pressed up against the sofa, his torso securely tucked in between his brother’s thighs. He bent down to press a soft kiss to the creamy skin, rubbing his cheek into the abundant hair as Mycroft’s fingers traced along his jaw, his thumb caressing the seam of his lips. “I would apologise for abusing you so terribly, but the truth is that I’m not sorry at all. But then, neither are you.”

“No, brother. Not in the least. You are free to abuse me in any way you like.”

 _“Nghk.”_ Sherlock allowed himself a brief smirk, burying his face deep into his brother’s crotch to hide it away. “Oh, but you are a lovely little whore, brother mine. And I will - but not today. Today is for me, and I will take you as soft or as hard as I desire, but I will not deliberately hurt you. After all, I don’t want you irreparably damaged, do I?” Sherlock shook his head as he took in a deep breath, inhaling Mycroft’s scent and holding it in until his head started to swim. “That’s it. Take your time, brother dearest. Get me hard as steel and dripping for you.”

Sherlock moaned and stuck out his tongue, laving it over the softly-furred skin of his brother’s bollocks, delighting in the heavy weight of them as he took them into his mouth one at a time. Mycroft hummed and settled himself a little further down in his seat, opening his legs a bit wider as he ground up into his brother’s face. Not hard, not fast, just a gentle rolling of his hips, a sinuous wriggle that made Sherlock’s breath catch at the sheer sensuousness of it. He reached up and squeezed at his brother’s member, stiffening but not quite hard, the foreskin retracted only slightly. Pondering momentarily, his brain spinning at all of the possibilities opening up before him, Sherlock slid his hand up, bringing the foreskin forward over the head.

He mouthed at it lightly, sucking it in between his tongue and soft palate, pulling back until it popped out of his mouth. Sherlock smirked internally as there was a low moan above him, and he delicately probed at the opening with his tongue, finally working it in and swirling it around, flicking at the slit of his brother’s cock with the very tip of his tongue as it remained trapped within the foreskin. Mycroft shuddered above him, his hands convulsively tightening on his shoulder and arm. He squeezed at him with his hand again, humming as it swelled and warmed at his touch, making a small noise of disappointment as his brother’s cock hardened completely, the foreskin drawing back on its own and pulling free from his tongue.

Sherlock leant forward eagerly as the brightly-flushed head began to ooze with pre-come, once more sticking out his tongue and lapping at it as a kitten with cream. Mycroft hooked his fingers under his chin and tilted his face up, his eyes glowing with lust and satisfaction. “Such a greedy little beast you are, my love.” Sherlock hummed his assent, keeping his eyes locked on his brother’s face as he pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, loosening the ring of his lips and slowly sliding down. He paused as the head popped in, hollowing his cheeks and sucking gently. “Oh, but you are divine, aren’t you? So beautiful and so clever.” Mycroft left one hand running over his head and shoulders as he dug around in his robe with the other, finally coming up with the bottle of lube.

Sherlock’s eyes widened with delight even as he slid his mouth further down on his brother’s cock, silently holding up his hand in a mute demand. He was thrilled beyond words that his big brother had obviously intended to have him at some point this morning, since he had been prepared. Mycroft smiled approvingly as he opened the cap and dribbled some of the contents over his brother’s palm. “That’s it. You use those clever fingers of yours and get yourself ready for me. Only two fingers, mind. I want to feel that lovely tight arsehole of yours around me again.”

He blinked in acknowledgement as he pulled up slightly, keeping his brother’s thick flesh nestled on his tongue as he paused long enough to get his hand tucked up under his bollocks, spreading the lube around before tentatively probing with one finger. It was still a bit sore from his treatment the night before, but not overly so, and he couldn’t prevent a muffled moan from escaping as one finger went in with very little resistance. Sherlock rocked against his hand as Mycroft gasped above him, thrusting into his mouth with a slow and steady rhythm. He didn’t go deep enough to make him choke, not seeking release, just enjoying an appetiser before the main course.

Almost immediately, Sherlock started probing with the second finger, suddenly anxious to feel his big brother filling him up again. His mind was still a bit fragile from his earlier fright, and it was almost like an urge that he felt deep in his bones, the need to be connected to his lover in the most basic way possible. He grunted indistinctly as he pushed and shoved, finally getting his ring finger in as deeply as his middle. Mycroft tutted from above him, patting the top of his head as he allowed himself one truly deep thrust. “Careful there, brother mine. As I said, I don’t want you damaged. That would put that lovely arse of yours out of commission for a while, and I can’t have that.”

Sherlock moaned and shook his head, briefly squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden influx of bodily sensations, the pushing and pulling of his own fingers, the ebb and flow of his brother’s rhythm, his air being threatened as the thick flesh was once more rammed in deep. “Enough. Up.” Mycroft nodded down at him brusquely, and Sherlock rose on shaky legs, unsure of where to put his soiled hand. “Oh, just wipe it on my robe, you daft thing.” Sherlock felt his eyebrows raising, but nodded briefly, watching as his brother dribbled an extra bit of lube over his spit-slicked cock and beckoned him forward.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of the morning after, and oh so many plans to implement...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Holmescest smutfest... Aaaand, that's it, really. 
> 
> :)
> 
> Kisses, my lovelies!

Sherlock straddled his brother’s legs a little awkwardly, reaching behind to line his prick up before sinking down oh-so-slowly, taking the time to catalogue all of the sensations assaulting his poor defenceless arsehole. Oh, the stretch and burn as he forced himself down, the air that he held in his lungs going somewhat stale, the fullness as he was invaded in the most perfect way imaginable. Oh yes, he had waited for this for so very long… Mycroft grunted quietly as Sherlock grabbed at his shoulders, shoving himself down harder and rocking back and forth and side to side.

He took in a shaky breath as he settled himself, getting his knees underneath him as he clenched around the intrusion of his brother’s beautiful cock, flexing the muscles in his arse. Mycroft laughed on a soft exhale, tracing the lines of his torso with an expression of adoration on his face. “That’s it, baby brother. Let your body accept me. There’s no need to rush, not today.” With the utmost care and affection, he drew Sherlock’s face down until it was nestled in his neck, running his fingers lightly over his back as he had in his office the afternoon before, what felt like a lifetime ago, now. “And how are your monsters this morning, my darling?”

Sherlock sighed happily and tightened the muscles in his abdomen, nuzzling against his brother’s skin as he let out a quiet gasp. “Hidden in the shadows, brother mine. They are afraid of your light.”

“Excellent. Then I seem to be serving my purpose.” Sherlock grinned against Mycroft’s clavicle as his fingers travelled a bit further down, both hands grasping at his arse-cheeks and squeezing firmly. “Perhaps it’s time you served yours, then.” Sherlock giggled happily as he straightened on his perch, rolling his hips forward and back, throwing his head back with delight at the feel of his brother’s thick cock buried deep. “Oh yes, my dear little whore. Just like that.” 

Sherlock gasped as Mycroft drew him closer, grazing his teeth over his Adam’s apple. He dared a little bounce and then another, going a bit higher each time and perhaps getting just a bit carried away as his brother moaned in his ear. But then those lovely elegant hands of his came up around his waist and pulled him down hard, stilling his motion completely. “No, brother. Soft. Slow. I want to stay buried in your sweet arse for a very long time.” Sherlock shivered with utter delight, feeling all of his bones turn to water for the briefest of seconds. He nodded shakily as Mycroft drew back and eyed him sternly. His face softened as Sherlock once again began rocking atop him in a slow but steady motion, keeping his body soft and pliant. 

_“Mm.”_ Sherlock sighed as his brother began to run his fingers all along his face and body with just the barest of touches. It was quite clear to him that every line of his face, each mole and freckle was carefully being recorded for filing away in Mycroft’s own mental storage system. His mind palace was much more literal than Sherlock’s, of course, a vast forest of endless file cabinets, each meticulously labelled. His elder brother had never been as fanciful as he was, although he was beginning to suspect that perhaps he was far more romantic…

Mycroft sighed as he pulled at the few wisps of hair on Sherlock’s chest, running his fingers around one soft pink areola, pinching at it with his nails. “I’ve been awake for a little while, brother mine, and I’ve done some planning. You did say that you wished for me to transfigure you, did you not?”

Sherlock moaned at the implication, nodding as he rocked on his brother’s cock just a bit more forcefully. “Oh. Oh, yes, brother. Make me yours.”

Mycroft smiled his approval and rewarded him by twisting the sensitive nub still held in his grasp. “We’ll be going to a spa a bit later in the day. They specialise in catering to people with particular tastes. People with special...hm - _pets_.” His fingers once again began to roam, along and under Sherlock’s arm, tickling at the hair, down his faint treasure trail, tangling briefly in the riot of tight curls surrounding Beau. “This will all be removed. I want you shiny and smooth, brother mine. Pink and hairless.”

“Oh.” Sherlock bit his lip. “Like your dolly.”

“Just so.” He pinched at both nipples gently. “These will be pierced. It will be quite the trial for me to leave them alone long enough to let them heal properly, but once the rings are set, oh, the fun I will have with you…” Mycroft grinned fiercely as Sherlock’s body spasmed, clamping down hard around his stiff member. “Oh yes. But before that, I have someone coming to visit. He will be measuring you top to toe and manufacturing some specialised equipment that I’m sure we will both come to appreciate very much over the months and years to follow. He’s very talented with construction, and has an equally talented seamstress on staff who will be creating some lovely outfits for you to model for me. So much preparation required, brother mine, and I am so eager to begin…”

“Yes, brother. _Please_ …”

"It’s absolutely lovely that you’re so eager for me to conform your body to my desires.” His lips twisted with malicious glee as he reached around and pressed his palm to the small of Sherlock’s back before letting his nails dig in slightly. “What if I were to tattoo my name on your backside like some cheap tramp, my dear? Would you still be quite as eager to submit to that?” 

Sherlock grinned even as his body twisted with delight, daring to take a few more liberties with the motion of his hips, bouncing subtly with each forward thrust. “I might think it a bit - _ah!_ \- crude for you, brother dear, but yes. Yes, you could bloody well brand me with ink or blade or fire and I would submit. Anything for you.” He blinked as a sudden influx of emotion made his throat tighten, and he leant forward to place his forehead against Mycroft’s, both hands cupping his face. “Anything. I swear it.”

Mycroft choked out some kind of noise, a sob and growl and laugh all in one, and the next thing he knew, Sherlock was being held in a grip as tight as a vise as his brother’s hips bucked up hard and fast, driving his cock in deep and sure. He groaned in absolute ecstasy as he was put to his purpose, taking the deepest satisfaction in knowing that he was to serve as the outlet for his brother’s desires for years to come.

“Hah - any-anything, brother.” He forced the words out as the air was pushed from his lungs with each swift thrust, needing to make sure that his brother heard him clearly. “I will do my best to obey your every whim, to serve as the perfect lovely dolly for you, to wear the clothes you choose for me and I will pose as you wish, I will serve as your whipping post and oh - ngh God _yes_ \- your fucktoy. Yes, brother mine, I will do anything you ask simply because you do ask it of me.” Sherlock sniffled quietly as tears started to stream down his face, tears of joy that were reflected in his brother’s cool grey eyes, a soft smile gracing his lovely face even as he drove deep into him with a relentless brutality. “I love you so fiercely, brother dearest, and I will do all within my po-power to demonstrate that to you every day of m-my life by allowing you the freedom to do with me as you will.”

Any further air in his lungs was nearly crushed out of him as Mycroft took his mouth with a kind of desperate intensity, invading him with his tongue as he plundered his arse with abandon. They separated only far enough to take in air, panting hot breath into each other’s mouths, their torsos practically glued together as he took him as was his right, fucking him fiercely. Sherlock shuddered as his brother’s hands clutched him harder, tighter, once again sealing their mouths together as his cock swelled and burst within him. He didn’t slow his vicious pace, continuing to plunge in deep and fast as he rode out every little tremor, his brow furrowing in concentration against Sherlock’s. 

He moaned low and deep as Mycroft let out another strangled noise, something equal parts anguish and ecstasy. He slackened his pace by bare increments until finally stilling his motion completely, still holding his brother close. They panted together for long moments, until Sherlock was able to sit up slightly, grinding down subtly. Mycroft grinned at him with an expression of such utter joy that he felt his breath being taken away again. He blushed and then squirmed slightly as he felt the beginnings of his brother’s release beginning to drip from his well-used hole. 

“You beautiful, filthy thing.” Mycroft cupped his face and brought him in for a tender kiss, humming quietly into his mouth. “Most gorgeous whore I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re all mine.”

“Yes, brother.” 

“Upstairs. We’ll clean up a bit before breakfast. Can’t have you making a mess out of my furniture…” Mycroft tilted his head, apparently making a little addition to whatever list was in his head. “I'll have to lay in a supply of easily washable throws or towels, won’t I?”

Sherlock giggled merrily. “Stacks of them next to every shaggable surface…”

His brother’s cool grey eyes narrowed slightly as his lips pursed, his classic ‘forcing his smile to stay hidden’ expression. “But then, that’s why your mouth will be the most convenient, brother mine. Built-in clean-up.” Sherlock shivered with a low moan, grimacing slightly as the movement of his body shook a little more semen loose. “Gets unpleasant, doesn’t it? Come on, up with you.”

Mycroft gave him a swift smack on his arse, causing him to yelp quietly, but then he did as he was bade, gingerly raising himself up on his knees and frowning as his brother’s flaccid member slid free completely. Mycroft shook his head fondly and stood with a low groan as Sherlock waited for him, holding out his hand silently. He brought it to his lips and kissed each knuckle reverently before tugging him in the direction of the door and then to the stairs. 

As the night before, Mycroft led the way into the bathroom, and he nodded toward the tub. “Show me that filthy arse of yours, my dear.” Sherlock smirked as he bent over and planted his hands on the edge of the tub, spreading his legs and tilting his hips back to display himself to his brother’s satisfaction. He glanced over his shoulder to catch Mycroft’s grey eyes raking greedily over his backside in the mirror as he wiped himself down first. He blushed as his brother winked at him and ran his tongue along his bottom lip lasciviously. He sighed with disappointment as he turned from the sink with a wet flannel, gently wiping up the streaks of come that had trickled down his inner thighs before scrubbing at his dirty arsehole.

Sherlock winced even as he moaned softly, the tenderness of his hole sending delicious waves of sensation through his body. His prick twitched and plumped up slightly as Mycroft scrubbed just a tad harder than necessary, causing Sherlock to spread his legs a bit wider and grind back into him. His brother chuckled low as he bent over his prostrate form, mouthing at the bitemark that he had bestowed the night before. “Not yet, sweet little whore. Maybe even not today. It depends on how obedient you are and how my mood progresses through the day.”

“Ah! I understand, brother mine.” Sherlock bit his lip to contain another moan, but it simply echoed in his chest, rumbling through his body. Mycroft sighed happily as he ran his nose down his brother’s spine, standing straight and giving his arse a little smack. He finally slid his open robe from his shoulders and tossed it into the laundry basket as Sherlock stood on somewhat shaky legs. Mycroft smiled at him in the mirror again as his little brother raised one trembling arm and traced along the line of freckles across his shoulders. “Beautiful.” 

“Hardly.”

Sherlock frowned mightily at his brother's casually dismissive tone. “I’m not lying to you, Mycroft - or exaggerating. You’ve always been so beautiful to my eyes - I was just too afraid to tell you. I was afraid of what it could mean.” He stepped closer and buried his face in between Mycroft’s shoulder blades, wrapping his arms around his torso. “I was so afraid for so long, and for all the wrong reasons…”

Mycroft’s head dropped slightly as he looked down at his brother’s arms holding him tight. So thin - he’d always been far too thin… But he would fix that, wouldn’t he? “What were your reasons, Sherlock? What were you afraid of?”

His stomach dropped slightly as Sherlock moaned into his back, not a sound of pleasure, but of despair. “That you would reject me, brother dear. That you would hate me, or find me disgusting. There were so many times that I wanted to tell you how beautiful you were to me, how lovely. But I couldn’t.”

“Mm. And there I was suffering the exact same worries. We are far more alike than either of us dreamt, I suppose.” Mycroft patted Sherlock’s arms until they loosened, turning around slowly and raising his chin. He wiped away his tears and tweaked his earlobe gently. “We both have regrets, my love. But there is nothing for it now but to move forward, yes?” He smiled at Sherlock’s shaky nod, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “We will make up for that lost time, I promise you that.” His brother’s nod was firmer this time, more confident. “Yes. Now. Go into my room and kneel on the bed and wait for me. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, brother.” 

Mycroft tilted his head and watched Sherlock as he strode from the room, his marks still displayed proudly upon his back. Lovely. He sighed and made a brief detour into his brother’s bedroom, looking around critically. The bed would have to go, of course. There was no need to pretend that this one saw any use any longer, not now that they had stopped lying to themselves and to each other about what they needed. Sherlock’s desk would stay in place as there was no room for it anywhere else in the house, although they would perhaps have to find a way to block it off somehow, to keep it designated as his alone. He would still need a space that he could retreat to if he found it necessary, even though Mycroft had a feeling that wouldn’t happen for a while yet to come. Things were just too new and exciting for the both of them that he believed they wouldn’t be able to get enough of each other for quite a few weeks.

The wardrobe and bureau would remain, yes… After all, they would need storage for his brother’s new finery and whatever toys he decided to purchase for use on his lovely little pleasure-doll. Mycroft opened both and poked around a bit, but Sherlock had never kept too many of his clothes here, so there was plenty of room. He snagged a pair of black boxer briefs from the bureau and held them up, tutting at the well-worn material. Rather thin in some places - he might as well throw it all out and begin anew. Mycroft sighed happily. One of the advantages of never having to worry about your next paycheque was the opportunity to lavish gifts on those that you loved, and oh… Oh, his dear brother would soon know exactly how much he was loved.

He hummed vaguely as he strode across the hall to his own room, his eyes glancing over his brother’s kneeling form as he passed by him without comment, simply tossing the pants onto the bed next to him. Mycroft always took care when dressing, and this morning was no exception. He briefly entertained the idea of asking Sherlock’s opinion on his chosen wardrobe, but no. He pulled out a fawn-coloured lightweight tweed and began the careful and deliberate process of layering everything on his body. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him as he dressed, a clear feeling of approval and pride mixed with a tinge of disappointment. Had Sherlock his way, both of them would undoubtedly be prancing around the rest of the day completely starkers. Mycroft smiled to himself briefly. Surely there would be a day or two to come in which he might be able to indulge him… 

Mycroft tossed a quick glance over his shoulder, smiling again as Sherlock’s eyes instantly dropped from his face to rest on the floor at his feet. It seemed that since declaring that his body was his brother’s to do with as he liked, his submissive responses to him were already almost instinctive. He had most likely been wishing for this change in their dynamic to be made into reality for a very long time. Years had been spent subconsciously preparing himself to bend to his elder brother’s every whim. Mycroft hummed with satisfaction as he tweaked his tie and ran his hands down the front of his suit jacket. 

“Be a dear and slip those pants on.”

Sherlock frowned, but obeyed, once again taking up his position after wriggling them up over his hips. Mycroft turned back to his wardrobe and opened the bottom drawer, rifling through the contents for something that would perhaps suit his purposes. Most of the scarves were wool or cashmere, far too thick and hot. Oh, but here was something… Mycroft pulled out a long length of white silk that had served as a Regency-style cravat during some interminable fancy-dress party some years back. He smirked as he recalled that the rest of the outfit was surely stashed away in one of those boxes in the storage cupboard, and oh, what an interesting game that might be… He as the Master of Pemberley, and Sherlock as one of his servants, perhaps? 

_Hm._ He turned back to the bed after tucking everything away and closing up the wardrobe securely. Sherlock smiled shyly before once again dropping his eyes, his cheeks nicely pink. Mycroft chuckled quietly as he draped the length of fabric around his neck, bringing one edge up and caressing his face with it. His brother hummed contentedly and leant into his touch, his hands tightening on his thighs in an effort to keep from reaching out to him. Mycroft continued to stroke him with the silk scarf, his face and shoulders and chest, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. He did his damnedest to ignore the soft sound of pure need that escaped his brother’s throat, knowing that if he gave in, he would surely have to take him yet again. That would mean a delay in his timetable, and that simply could not be tolerated.

“Lovely. Come with me, brother mine.” Mycroft stepped back and held out his hand, running his lips over Sherlock’s knuckles as he stood on somewhat shaky legs. He meekly followed as Mycroft tugged him out of the bedroom and down the stairs, taking a right turn into the kitchen. **  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft continues to care for his dearest brother on the morning after...

Mycroft continued to tow his brother behind him gently until they reached the centre worktop, wordlessly encouraging Sherlock to settle down on one of the stools surrounding it. He once again took up the length of fabric, sliding it along his brother’s neck until it slipped off in his hands. He lifted Sherlock’s chin and pressed one single kiss to his lips before raising the cloth to his eyes.

_“Oh.”_

“Yes. Think of it as an exercise in trust, brother dear.” Mycroft nodded with a little smile, and Sherlock’s ridiculously long eyelashes fluttered briefly before he closed them, allowing his brother to wrap the cloth around his head a couple of times, tying it in the back.

“I already trust you with everything in me, brother.”

Mycroft hummed as he trailed his fingers down the sides of Sherlock’s neck, noting with interest how he quivered under his touch. “You may believe so, my love, but this will prove it to both you and me.” He took his hands away and stepped back, watching how his brother’s posture instantly tightened into something tense and wary, an animal sensing danger. “Do you see? You are already unsure of your surroundings, even though you haven’t moved and you know without a doubt that I am nearby.” Mycroft stepped close again and placed his fingertips on one of his brother’s taut thighs, humming quietly as it flexed under his touch. “We are both blessed with uncanny abilities, brother mine, with extraordinary powers of observation. But when sight is taken away…”

Sherlock swallowed uneasily. “Things become far more uncertain. Shaky.”

“Just so. You surely know the sound of my tread, the smell of my cologne.” Mycroft smiled faintly as he watched Sherlock’s nose twitch faintly, as he tilted one ear in his direction. “The sound of my voice, yes. But there may come a time when both sight and sound will be denied to you.” He hastened to comfort his brother as his shoulders pulled tight, hunching in on himself defensively. “Not for some time to come, and quite definitely not until you are ready. But still. I must ensure that you will be able to identify me, to have you know that the hands touching you are mine and no-one else’s. So.” Mycroft reached up with his left hand, slowly sliding his fingers up his brother’s neck until they were resting in the hair behind his right ear.

Sherlock shivered and took in a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “Good. Pay attention, love.” Mycroft tapped at his head, one gentle touch with his third finger and then the first, quickly following it with two taps from his middle finger. “Do you understand, Sherlock? That is how you will know me.”

“Like a password.”

“Mm.” Mycroft hummed vaguely and lifted Sherlock’s hand to his own head. “Show me.” He could practically feel his brother rolling his eyes at him, but since his face was covered, he was spared the childish display of rudeness. Sherlock quickly ran through the signal, waiting until Mycroft had nodded with satisfaction before daring to run his fingers further back, playing idly with the hair at the back of his neck. Mycroft hummed even as the skin broke out into gooseflesh, making his hair bristle slightly. “Cheeky devil.”

Sherlock shuddered at the low tone of his brother’s voice, wriggling just a bit closer to him on his stool. “Can’t help it, brother mine.” He cautiously raised his other hand, reaching out blindly until it made contact with Mycroft’s chest. He caressed the knot in his tie before delicately moving his fingers up until he found his lips, tracing them wonderingly. “I love the way you feel, I just want to touch you all over and keep touching you…”

“And if you behave, you may get your wish. I even find the idea of you exploring me by touch alone, or by taste, perhaps - to be rather...intriguing. But not until our other tasks for the day are complete.” He shook off his brother’s insistent fingers and gently but firmly placed both of Sherlock’s hands on his thighs. “Stay and be still.”

“Yes, brother.”

Sherlock shivered again as Mycroft stepped back once more, the corona of his body heat fading away from him. He listened carefully to the sounds all around him, the trite domestic nonsense of a kettle being filled and plates being pulled from cupboards. He lifted his face, sticking his nose in the air as the smell of bread being toasted wafted over him. Sherlock frowned faintly as his stomach growled at the implication of soon being filled, resisting the urge to poke at it in disgust. It grumbled a bit more fiercely as the smell grew stronger, the enticingly sharp tang of sweet strawberry jam floating by underneath his nose. This time he gave in to the impulse, jabbing a finger into his belly just above his navel, fighting back on a smile as Mycroft chuckled from somewhere in front of him.

“You should learn to heed your body’s demands, brother mine.” Sherlock squirmed as the sticky-sweet toast was wafted near to his face once again. “Why do you fight it, anyway? Surely you must know that it is a losing battle.”

“It is my body, Mycroft, and I should be able to control it as I wish.”

“Oh my. Those are rather dangerous thoughts, dearest. Not that it matters in the least anymore, seeing as how it is now _my_ body, and I wish for it to be fed adequately.” There was a brief pause, and something in Mycroft’s voice shifted into a darkly dangerous purr. “Open up, beloved.”

 _“Nghk.”_ Sherlock’s teeth clamped down involuntarily as his spine contorted under the influence of his brother’s voice, his neck twisting almost uncomfortably. When he was able to regain control of his traitorous nervous system, he shook his head slightly and panted out a quick, “Sorry, sorry brother. I didn’t mean to refuse you, I just couldn’t…”

“Shh…” Mycroft chuckled quietly as he stroked Sherlock’s shoulder. “Surely you understand that I know the difference between outright refusal and a loss of control, my dear. Just take a moment to breathe, and when you are ready, open your mouth.”

Sherlock dipped his head and took in a few steadying breaths through his nose, inhaling not only the scent of his impending breakfast, but also that of his dearest brother. His brother, standing before him, waiting patiently for Sherlock to regain control in order that he may hand it over to him instead. An exercise in trust indeed. With a tiny shake of his curls, Sherlock straightened in his seat and let his mouth drop open obediently.

Once again the tantalising tart sweetness was wafted underneath his nose, and his salivary glands instantly took notice, releasing a gentle wave of moisture in heady anticipation. Still he kept himself held ready, a small rivulet of drool beginning to drip steadily out of the corner of his mouth. Mycroft tutted and hummed all at once, a low sound of approval that made the muscles in Sherlock’s thighs jump. There was a feather-light touch of fingers along his chin as Mycroft wiped up the errant dribble, a quiet smacking of lips that indicated that his brother had sucked his fingers into his own mouth, and oh God, just picturing that made Sherlock want to drop to his knees.

But no - he was told to be still, to wait, to open his mouth and nothing beyond that, so that’s precisely what he did, and when Mycroft finally put the piece of toast in between his teeth, he bit down without thinking, nearly moaning from the pure relief of being able to rest his jaw.

“That’s it, love. Chew thoroughly, now…” Once again, Sherlock obeyed, shifting the piece of toast to his molars with his tongue and taking care to grind it to mush. He hummed vaguely as he registered the hint of carbon, realising that Mycroft had taken care to prepare it just as he liked, on the lighter side of nearly burnt, and absolutely slathered with sticky sweet jam. Of course, a thin layer of honey underneath would have been preferable… Mycroft chuckled quietly, seeming to read his mind as always. “I had to use the last of my supply for your tea, my dear. One of our tasks for the day will include a stop at that boutique shop that sells the brand you prefer.”

Sherlock bit his lip and blushed abominably as his brother laughed at him again. He heard a distinct crunching sound before the toast was once again put to his lips. It was smaller than before, and he suddenly realised that Mycroft was sharing his breakfast with him. There was something so oddly intimate about the gesture that he felt his head go just a little swimmy as he opened his mouth and took another bite. Bit by bit, two pieces of toast were consumed between them both, with Mycroft delicately wiping away any errant crumbs from his chin and chest. Sherlock felt his brother’s cool hands take his and lead them to the worktop, wrapping them both around a warm mug.

“This bit I’ll let you do on your own, brother dearest.” Sherlock raised the tea to his mouth and took in a healthy draught, sighing lustily as the warmth and sweetness filled his chest and belly, smacking his lips together at the lingering taste of the honey. He almost missed the tiny little groan from somewhere off to his right, but there was no mistaking the feel of the heat of Mycroft’s body as he abruptly leant in, swiping just the tip of his tongue over the seam of his lips. Sherlock opened his mouth eagerly, but was disappointed to only receive a gentle pat, first on his cheek and then on the hand that was still wrapped around the mug.

He knew that Mycroft was silently admonishing him for seeking more than was his right to demand, and he dipped his head meekly as he once again raised his tea to his lips. He listened as Mycroft tidied, washing the dishes and putting everything away. He drained the dregs of his mug and carefully unwound his fingers from it, clasping them together in his lap as he waited for his next command. There were soft steps from behind and the lingering aroma of his brother’s cologne wrapping around him as a warm embrace, but the touch that he expected did not come.

Sherlock shivered, his body going tense with anticipation. He fought it off as best he could, knowing that Mycroft wanted him soft and pliable, not stiff and unyielding. There was nothing to worry about, nothing he need concern himself over. Perhaps he had woken to an empty bed, but Mycroft had alleviated his fears on that score and had even strengthened the tenuous bond that had been formed the night before. He had allowed him to suck him, had fucked him tenderly and then fiercely and he had cleaned him up afterwards and had insisted on feeding him. Here, he could relax and quiet the incessant buzzing of his mind by simply letting Mycroft take control, because here he would always be safe under his dear brother’s care.

Yes, all of it for Mycroft, for his elder brother, the most important person in his life. So Sherlock took in a calming breath and let his body shake off the tension, feeling the quiver beginning low at the nape of his neck and travelling all the way down and then back up again. And when the minor earthquake had subsided, he felt his shoulders drop slightly, even as he kept his chest straight and breathing even. It was then that the touch he expected finally came, his brother’s fingertips tracing lightly over the welts he had created the night before. Sherlock was mostly aware of them as lingering flashes of bright sensation, pain and pleasure all mixed up in one. Especially now, with his sight restricted, all his other senses seemed to be heightened as Mycroft worked his way up from the small of his back to the top of his spine. With a quiet murmur that was nothing but pure nonsense, his brother pressed himself up against his back, running his closed lips over the indentation of his teeth that he had left him with from their first encounter.

Sherlock quivered with delight as he kissed the tender bruise, opening his mouth and tonguing at it lightly before oh-so-gently aligning his teeth and biting down. He rumbled out his pleasure with a shudder and a low moan, writhing in his seat and subconsciously pressing down on his groin with his clenched fists. His prick twitched as Mycroft growled and bit down harder, one arm snaking around his torso to clutch him tight.

“Oh, but you are a terribly tempting thing when you’re being so good for me, my love. My darling baby brother - my treasure, my prized possession.” Sherlock gasped and threw his head back as Mycroft’s silken voice caressed his ear, sending swift hot flashes through his chest and down into his groin.

“Brother…”

“No, no... Not yet, sweet concubine. My guest should be arriving shortly, and although I am already wrought up to such a state that it would surely only be a few moments before I would spend myself down that glorious throat of yours, I am not yet in a frame of mind where that would be entirely satisfactory. I wish to take my time with you, to degrade you in the manner in which you deserve. We do not have that time at our disposal at this moment, so I must ask you to behave. Do try to contain your innate sensuality for the time being.”

Sherlock found himself giggling most unbecomingly, raising his fingers to his mouth to try to contain it and failing quite miserably. Mycroft chuckled from behind him even as he once again sank his teeth into his flesh and tweaked at one pink nipple. Sherlock nodded curtly, striving not to dislodge his glorious attacker from his shoulder. “Yes, brother.”

“Mm.” After one hard squeeze that nearly drove the breath from Sherlock’s body, Mycroft released him with a disappointed sigh. Sherlock strove not to break out into whimpers as he stepped away, breathing in a sharp huff of air as he instead took one of his hands and tugged gently. “Come, brother mine.” Mycroft allowed him to steady himself against the worktop with his free hand as he slid off the stool before tugging again.

Sherlock tilted his head as he was led across the hall and into Mycroft’s study, feeling the inherent warmth and cosiness of the room settling into his bones. His brother sat him down on one side of the sofa, crouching down in front of him and caressing his knees. “One additional thing, Sherlock, and then I will be leaving you for a short while. It may be dull in here all alone, but I would encourage you to entertain yourself as best you can in order to stay awake. If you do well, I may have a reward for you when we are done here.”

“Yes, brother.”

Mycroft sighed quietly, his sweet breath washing over Sherlock’s bare chest. “So lovely. And that is precisely what I wished to discuss. While we are here alone together, you may call me by my name, although I do prefer brother. But when there are particular guests in this house, or if we happen to be out together, you must only call me sir. Unless we are at a social gathering where our familial connection is known, of course. Then we will be brothers and nothing more. Is that understood?”

Sherlock’s lips quirked briefly as he nodded. “I understand. Sir.” He tilted his head with another tiny smirk. “While out in public I will endeavour to treat you with the same mocking disregard that I have shown you throughout most of my life.”

“Well, now. I wouldn’t go quite that far, my dear.”

Sherlock giggled at the dark amusement present in his brother’s voice, reaching out to run his fingers over his mouth to feel out his broad smile. He felt a little niggle of doubt growing in his head, but didn’t allow it to go too far. “And what will you call me, then?” Mycroft took his hand and gently turned it, pressing a soft kiss to the centre of his palm. “You’ve called me many wonderful things in the past few hours - which one will you choose as a title to stake your claim in front of others?”

Mycroft smiled again as he nuzzled into Sherlock’s hand. “So many titles. Boy tends to be customary, but I must confess that I’m not fond of how impersonal it sounds. I could call you Beloved or Pet, my dearest Treasure, but although they are all true, none of them are specific enough to illustrate the depth or the intensity of my feelings toward you. The one thing that keeps coming to mind is perhaps a bit atypical, but I feel that it fits.”

“Brother, please… Tell me.”

“I believe that I shall call you Mine.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Mycroft's guest - after a fashion, anyway...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a couple of odd comments, it took me a little while to get my head back into this particular story, but I think I'm back on track now... I still have a lot of grand ideas with this one, and I'm hoping to be able to share them with you all. 
> 
> So! Please read, please comment if you are so inclined, but please do keep any criticisms constructive and not just 'Don't do this!'. That's hardly helpful, is it? :)
> 
> Kisses to all my lovelies! *mwah*

Sherlock shivered as a cloud of warmth burst in his chest, taking in a shaky breath and letting it out on an almost silent “Oh.” He carefully leant forward until his forehead was pressed up against Mycroft’s, tears dripping from his eyes and soaking the white silk. “Oh, brother dearest… I haven’t the words - yes. Yes, I shall be Yours.” He giggled quietly as Mycroft’s attitude turned quite giddy, as he pressed soft butterfly kisses all over his face and chest.

 _“Mine.”_ Sherlock’s breath caught in his lungs as the atmosphere emanating from his brother turned into something dark and hungry, and he mewled with need as strong arms were suddenly pulled tight around his torso. Sharp teeth nipped at his earlobe, travelling downward, and he writhed and gasped in delight.

“Yes, brother. Yours.” He eagerly wrapped his legs around Mycroft’s waist as he was jerked forward on the cushion, offering himself as plainly as he was able. He didn’t know exactly what he needed, but something had to happen between them to make it real, to make it solid. He gasped again as both of his arms were abruptly pulled behind him, as both wrists were held tight in one hand, as his brother’s other hand came up to grasp at his hair and pull his head back hard. “Yes, please. Please, my love. Baptise me.”

Mycroft growled low as he bit down on one pale shoulder, his cock twitching wildly in his pants. He pressed up closer to the base of the sofa, trapping it in an attempt to make it calm the hell down. “No time now, poppet. Later. Yes, later, when my guest has gone. I will paint this lovely face of yours and yes, I will baptise you. What a perfectly filthy concept, Mine. My sweet depraved baby brother…”

Sherlock whined and tightened his grip with his legs, but let them fall loose as Mycroft admonished him with a low snarl. He trembled and quivered as his brother released his own holds, as he soothed his hands down his arms and nuzzled into his neck gently. “Thank you, brother. I will be waiting for you.”

“Oh, I know you will be, my dearest. Rather impatiently, but that’s all right. As long as you don’t show any of that impatience to my guest.”

“No, sir.”

 _“Nghk.”_ Sherlock bit his lip to keep his giggles at bay as Mycroft let out another indiscriminate noise of lust, letting his body fall back into the cushions of the sofa and away from his brother’s all too enticing heat. He subconsciously mimicked the tempo of Mycroft’s breathing, marvelling silently at how it calmed his own racing heartbeat.

Just as they both took in deep breaths of relief, there was a knock at the front door. Sherlock felt Mycroft’s body heat retreating as he stood, listening to the sound of him brushing down his suit and resettling it to his satisfaction. There was a fleeting caress along his jaw, and a quiet admonishment to stay, and then he was gone. Sherlock could tell from the atmosphere that he had left the door to the sitting room open just a crack, although for whose benefit, he wasn’t certain.

Not that it mattered, because ultimately, it was all for Mycroft’s benefit, and Sherlock found that he was perfectly at ease with that concept. He listened halfheartedly as introductions were made, as the clicks of two pairs of shoes made their way across the foyer toward the stairs. Sherlock took in another deep breath as he resituated himself on the sofa, bringing his legs up and crossing them loosely, placing his hands on his knees. He knew that his brother had a clear idea of how he wanted to rearrange the bedroom that had been designated as his, and that this guest was here to facilitate his desires.

He wasn’t even upset that Mycroft hadn’t asked for his input - it wasn’t like it was his room as much as an oversized wardrobe, really - a place to keep his clothes while he slept in his brother’s bed. It had always served as a ruse for the both of them, a way to ignore the way they felt about each other. Although there had been times that he had felt the need to retreat from his brother’s overwhelming presence, just to prevent himself from doing something he thought he would be rejected for. But now, would even that option be taken away from him? Not that Sherlock felt that he would be able to get enough of his brother now that they had admitted their feelings, now that he would be free to express those untoward desires whenever he liked. But still - what if there came a time that he felt the need to be alone? Would it still be _his_ room, would Mycroft even grant him permission to retreat? Would he even want to seek refuge in a space that would be transformed purely for the twisted desires of his brother’s mind?

Sherlock shook his head firmly in an attempt to rein in his wandering thoughts. Both he and his brother had a bad habit of trying to see three or four steps ahead in any given situation, and both of them had been stopped short by unexpected twists many times before. He wasn’t going to allow his imagination to run away with him - he was going to wait to see what wonders awaited him. However Mycroft chose to arrange his life for him, it would be perfect, because his brother knew him even better than he knew himself. Sherlock relaxed a little further into the sofa as he recalled all of the instances in which his brother had been waiting for him, somehow knowing instinctively that he was needed. Mycroft was a very busy man - undoubtedly the busiest man in all of London if not England, but he always made time for his little brother.

Sherlock recalled also all of the times that he had tried to upset him, calling him belittling names or making snide remarks about his appearance. Which, if he was to be completely honest with himself, had always been precise and perfect, every hair firmly fixed in place, every line of his suit clean, every crease sharp. It was that very perfection that had driven Sherlock to behave so abominably toward his elder brother. Mycroft had always been so meticulously beautiful, like a stunning work of art relegated to some stuffy museum - so out of his reach that he simply had to attempt to drag his brother closer to his own level of base humanity. He felt a deep sense of shame remembering each occasion, seeing the expression on his brother’s face all too clearly. He had always been disappointed in Sherlock’s behaviour, yes, but there had usually been a measure of self-loathing lurking behind those lovely grey eyes as well. Sherlock shuddered as he came to the understanding that as nasty as his words had been, Mycroft had believed no small measure of them. He knew now that his behaviour had just been his desperate attempt to coax some kind of acknowledgement out of his brother, but knowing also that he had caused him pain made his stomach shrivel up around the meagre breakfast that they had consumed together.

He nodded to himself faintly as his fingers tapped on his knees. Whatever Mycroft wanted, he would make it happen - he would make amends for all of his reprehensible behaviour over the years. He had sought out his big brother’s attention in the most childish way imaginable, and now that he had it, he would eagerly submit to his desires. Oh yes. He would seek his own pleasure in nothing more than the glow of satisfaction in those lovely cool eyes, and he would be happy. They would be happy. Together.

Sherlock was perhaps vaguely cognizant of voices approaching, but he had allowed himself to get lost in fantasies of pleasuring his brother here in this very room, his study. Most of Mycroft’s free time was spent in here, whether continuing to work away from his offices, or allowing himself to settle in with a tot of brandy and a good book or three. So Sherlock imagined that he might be spending a bit of time here as well, either kneeling by his brother’s side or at his feet, holding himself ready in anticipation. He swallowed against a brief influx of saliva gathering in his mouth, squirming as his slightly sore arsehole twitched against nothing. Oh God, but he needed him…

There was a gentle touch at his shoulder and Sherlock nearly jumped out of his skin, abruptly throwing his arms out in front of him in a warding gesture. In the next moment he became aware of his brother’s cologne surrounding him, and he let his arms drop, crossing them over his chest to try and ease the wild drumming of his heart. There was a low hum before he felt long, elegant fingers winding into his hair, and the code that Mycroft had taught him was gently tapped out on his skull, one-one-two. He nodded briefly and tried to control the shakiness in his limbs, but the swift jolt of adrenaline that his little shock had delivered to his system would not allow that to happen.

Mycroft once again crouched in front of him, firmly rubbing his hands up his quivering thighs. “I am so sorry, Mine. I should have realised that you were travelling the halls of your Mind Palace, and should have not touched you without warning. Are you quite all right?”

Sherlock nodded again and opened his mouth to speak, but was mortified to feel his teeth beginning to chatter. He bit his lip and abruptly shook his head, feeling his throat closing up against tears as he dug his fingers into his armpits. “No, brother. I don’t think that I am.” He shook his head again in desperation as the tears began to flow. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I don’t know what’s wrong with me please don’t hate me Mycroft I love you so much and I am so so sorry I’ve treated you so horribly I want to make it right will you let me make it right please oh please…”

“Oh, Mine. My dearest…” Sherlock’s tears shuddered to a stop at the sound of anguish in his brother’s voice. There was a quiet shifting, and he felt the weight of Mycroft’s body settle onto the sofa next to him. “Come here, my love.” With his brother’s hands guiding him, Sherlock swiftly straddled his thighs and settled down into his lap with a relieved sigh. He tucked his face down into his neck and breathed in his heat as his wonderful hands travelled up and down his back.

Sherlock fought back on a bizarre urge to stick his thumb in his mouth as he nestled closer, tucking his hands down in between their bodies instead as he continued to shake erratically. He opened his mouth to offer another apology, but bit it back as Mycroft abruptly tugged his head back by the hair, bending down to kiss him fiercely. Sherlock’s body shuddered to a complete stop, even his heart seeming to halt in his chest. “Brother…”

 _“Mine.”_ Mycroft growled low and wrapped his arms around his torso, hugging him tight. “It’s fine, my sweet. So much has changed so quickly, my head is reeling as well. It’s quite alright to feel a bit unsteady at this point. We will work it out together, yes?” Sherlock nodded as he felt his hand being brought up to Mycroft’s mouth, as each knuckle was kissed gently. “Now, you just stay right here with me and I’ll call my guest in. He’s been very accommodating thus far, so I’m sure he won’t mind waiting a moment or two for you to gather yourself.”

Sherlock bit his lip as his spine gave out another swift tremor. “Yes, sir.” He immediately ducked his head back down onto his brother’s shoulder as he chuckled quietly.

After a swift pinch to his baby brother’s bum, Mycroft cleared his throat and called out. “Mr. Smith? You may join us, please.”

Sherlock tried to make himself as small as possible against his brother’s body, turning his face deeper into him and scrunching his limbs in tight. It wasn’t his relative nudity that made him feel vulnerable, it was the lack of sight. But this was how his brother wanted him for the moment, so this is how he would stay. Mycroft hummed low in his ear as he continued to pet him, both of them ignoring the soft click of footsteps on the hardwood floor as Mr. Smith joined them.

“Forgive me not getting up, Mr. Smith. I inadvertently gave Mine somewhat of a fright when I failed to announce myself to him.”

“Lad’s a bit jumpy, eh? Well, that’s to be expected when they’re new.” Sherlock frowned slightly at the tone of the man’s voice, something arrogant and wheedling all at the same time. “Have to offer constant reassurance before they’re broken in properly. Right pain in the arse, eh?”

Sherlock felt a brief tremor in his brother’s body as it stiffened against his. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. Mine is the only one that has honoured me with the responsibility of his care, and I intend to give him whatever he requires of me. Unlike some, apparently, I do not view that as a burden.” Sherlock smiled faintly to hear the icy note of disapproval in Mycroft’s voice, nuzzling into his neck to show his appreciation.

“Hm. Suit yourself. I find that a firm hand gets me what I want that much quicker, but if you want to drag things out with a soft touch, that’s your business.” Sherlock sat up on his brother’s knees as the annoying voice moved closer, feeling the man’s eyes lingering where they quite definitely had no business being. “That plush bottom is just screaming for a good smack or two.”

Sherlock’s lips curled up in derision. “If you bring that poisonous halitosis of yours any closer to me, I just may have to break your scrawny neck in self-defence.”

Mycroft chuckled brightly as he gave his legs a little bounce, making Sherlock squeal quietly. “Just so. Mr. Smith, if you cannot keep your mind on the task for which I invited you into my home, then perhaps we should just cancel the order and you can be on your way.”

Sherlock felt the odious presence retreat slightly as the man turned away. “Now, let’s not be too hasty, sir. We both know that there aren’t many in the area that can do what I do.”

“Perhaps not in the area, but you are not the only of your kind, and I have sufficient funds to bring anyone of my choosing any distance. I have seen examples of your work, and it is indeed lovely, but if you cannot maintain a professional attitude while in my house then I will insist that you leave.”

“I do beg your pardon, sir.” Sherlock frowned slightly as the arrogance in the man’s voice was replaced with a greasy obsequiousness. “Considering what I do, the lines between work and play are often blurred. Several of my clients have invited me to...sample the wares, as it were. I can see now that I made an error in my assumption, that your sweet lad is something special, not to be shared, especially with the likes of me.” Mycroft hummed low, as if he were considering his next course of action, gently petting Sherlock, running his hands up and down his thighs. “Please, do accept my apologies. Nothing but business from now on. Truthfully, I am rather intrigued by your ideas and am itching to get a plan drawn up for you.”

“Then that is what you shall do. I will determine whether or not to continue your services once I see it. I would advise you to put your best foot forward.”

“Oh, undoubtedly. And if I may, sir… Earlier you mentioned hoping to find someone as clever with a needle and thread as your own tailor, but perhaps a bit more discreet... Tradesmen can be rather chatty individuals as you are no doubt aware. There is a seamstress of my acquaintance that has years of experience with both female and male bodies, sir. Very competent and extremely talented - makes the loveliest corsets I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a few in my time. If you were to forgive me my assumption, perhaps she and I can work out a deal and get you a bit of a start on a new wardrobe for your sweet lad there.”

Sherlock tilted his head as Mycroft hummed, his hands gliding up and around his waist. He was almost certainly imagining him trussed up tight in satin, and Sherlock shivered under his hungry regard, his skin prickling as Mycroft ran his thumbs over it. “That may be...acceptable to me, Mr. Smith. Perhaps you can send me pictures of her work when you have the opportunity?”

“As soon as I’m back in my workshop, yes sir.” The man cleared his throat awkwardly. “Now there’s only one portion of my visit left… The measurements.” Sherlock shuddered as Mycroft snarled quietly. “If you would prefer, I can direct and you can measure, but of course that will take an extra bit of time to ensure that everything is correct. Or with your kind indulgence, I shall work swiftly and with a minimum of fuss and you can be rid of me all that much sooner…”

Mycroft cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck and drew him down, his lips brushing against his ear. “Mine?”

Sherlock bit back on a low moan and whispered back. “The quicker he is gone the better, brother, for that means that I may take you in my mouth all the sooner. I need to sup on you to bolster my strength…”

He shivered with absolute delight as Mycroft growled in his ear, his fingers clenching hard in his curls. Sherlock couldn’t hold back on a triumphant smirk as he felt his brother’s cock twitch against him hard. “Oh, but you are a naughty thing. Very well. Get your feet underneath you.”

Sherlock slithered down his brother’s legs, sliding off his knees a little gracelessly. His fumbling dismount helped distract attention away from Mycroft’s unfortunate condition, but of course Mr. Smith seemed quite unable to keep his mouth shut. “No need to be embarrassed, sir. After all, that is what our little pets are for, isn’t it?”

Sherlock smirked again as he felt the icy breeze of his brother’s cool gaze sweep past him and linger on the man dithering by his side. “I will once again thank you to keep your mind on your task.”

“Right you are.” The man snapped his heels together, and then Sherlock felt a slight disturbance next to him. “May I?” The question was directed at Mycroft, and he must have nodded for then his elbow was taken in a gentle but somewhat damp grip. Sweaty - nervous. As well he should be, if he had managed to hear his brother’s quiet snarl of displeasure. Sherlock was led to the centre of the room with Mr. Smith muttering small warnings. “Just around that corner, ooh, watch that chair… There we are, then.” And then there was the sound of paper rustling, a pen being uncapped and a tape measure unfurling. “Alright, lad. Nice and easy, yeah. Try not to tense up too much if you can. Sir, if you’d perhaps…”

There was the sound of the sofa creaking and soft footfalls, and the comforting aroma of his brother’s cologne before the feeling of his cool fingers wrapping around the back of his neck. Sherlock shivered once and dropped his head slightly, his entire being relaxing under Mycroft’s touch.

“Oh, but isn’t that so much better?” Sherlock could barely even muster the will to roll his eyes underneath his impromptu blindfold, but he held as still as he could as the tape measure was put to use. Waist, hips, thighs, torso, under his arms and over them, the little man mumbling numbers and idle observations to himself the whole while. “Lanky, yes, but not weak, no. Nice long legs, have to order in some new lengths of hemp, I think… Add five centimetres here for expansion, oh, yes… Hm.” There was a brief pause as he measured Sherlock’s ribcage. “Could you take in a nice deep breath for me, lad? Yes, and hold it… There. Alright, you can breathe, dearie. Yes, nice lungs. Nice, nice indeed… Sir, if I could just…” Mycroft grunted softly and Sherlock lifted his head as his brother’s hand was replaced with the soft fabric of the tape only briefly. “Perfect.” Sherlock sighed as the man withdrew, as Mycroft’s fingers once again traced over the knobs of his vertebra, tickling at the hair at the nape of his neck. “Now, I do recall you said you had some items on order, sir. Will you be needing a collar?”

Mycroft hummed. “For play, yes. The one I have on order is more...decorative than practical. I wasn’t particularly impressed with the generic leatherwork that I saw available and would prefer something a little more personalised. I will need a full set of restraints, and that includes the collar.” He laughed quietly as gooseflesh rippled up Sherlock’s spine at the mere implication.

“Oh, very good. Black is standard, of course, but can be a bit harsh. We have a number of colours available to choose from - I do believe a nice warm blue would suit your lad beautifully…”

Mycroft did not chide the man for his forwardness, as he found the idea rather intriguing. “He has always looked good in blue, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Send me photos, if you would. I will get back to you before the end of the day. Now, if there is anything else?”

Mr. Smith mumbled under his breath to the sound of flipping pages. “No, no… No, I think I have it all, and of course I can always contact you if something comes up…”

Mycroft brushed up against Sherlock’s back as he squeezed his neck. “Mine, stay.” Sherlock nodded curtly and breathed out a quiet sigh as his brother brushed past him. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep you. Allow me to show you out.”

The man chuckled quietly, but did not object. “Yes, of course. Must be getting on, so many new ideas to sketch out… Lad, it was very nice to meet you after a fashion, and I hope you do forgive me my assumptions.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and shrugged. “Nothing to forgive. I’m looking forward to perhaps modelling your seamstress’ work and I hope that your ideas please my Sir.”

“Yes, well. So do I, lad.”

“Mr. Smith. If you please.”

Sherlock shook off any lingering sense of unease as the two sets of footsteps retreated toward the door of the study and then beyond through the foyer. There was the murmur of farewells and the quite definitive sound of the door closing and - oh - the bolt being shot into place.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mine is christened...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some darker imagery being shared by Sherlock near the end here - I hope it isn't too shocking to anyone.

Mycroft’s steps hastened back into his study and this time Sherlock did not startle, because he was holding himself in readiness, all too anxious for his touch. His brother’s cool hands travelled the curves of his jaw, down the long line of his neck, along his collarbone before he stepped around behind him, his fingers tugging at the knot in the white silk wrapped around his head. “What a horrid little man. If I do commission him, rest assured that you will not be left alone in the house with him at any time.”

“Brother, come now. I don’t believe that level of security is necessary. You made it very clear that I was not common property, and he seemed to respect that boundary once it was put in place.” He huffed out an amused breath. “Mostly.”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want you alone with him.” Mycroft got the knot loose and started to unwind the cloth from around Sherlock’s head. “Keep your eyes closed for a moment, Mine.”

“Yes, brother.” Sherlock hesitated briefly before taking in a deep breath. “I am sorry that I let my temper get the best of me. I should not have spoken out in that manner toward a guest of your house.”

Mycroft chuckled and fluffed up his brother’s hair from where it had gone flat from the pressure of the blindfold, scratching gently at his scalp and raising a delicious frisson of gooseflesh over Sherlock’s arms. “Never apologise for that clever and oh-so-sharp tongue of yours, Mine. I love to hear it at play. As long as that sincerely formidable weapon isn’t being pointed at me, of course.” He gently brought Sherlock’s arms behind his back, binding his forearms together loosely with the strip of silk.

Sherlock shivered as he tugged at the impromptu restraint, gasping quietly as Mycroft yanked it tighter and tied it firmly. “No, brother. I’ll never speak to you that way again. I’m deeply ashamed that I have in the past, and I wish to make it up to you.”

“You will, my love. Oh, but you will…” Sherlock gasped as his hair was grabbed tight, his head drawn back and sharp teeth set in his neck. He was left reeling as he was abruptly released, and there was the thump of something landing at his feet. “On your knees, Mine.” They folded underneath him without thought, and Mycroft swiftly took his upper arm in a hasty attempt to guide him. Sherlock smiled faintly as he landed on a cushion that had been taken from the sofa. Then his brother’s strong grip was on his chin, raising his face as he bent down for a gentle kiss. Mycroft brushed his lips over his closed eyes, humming as they fluttered softly against his mouth. “Blink a few times, my dear. Let’s bring your sight back, yes?”

“Yes, brother. I want to see you.”

Mycroft growled as he stepped close, grasping hold of Sherlock’s head and grinding his clothed erection into his cheek. “Of course you do, you lovely tart.” Sherlock moaned and blinked rapidly as he turned his head, planting his nose right in his brother’s groin.

He opened his mouth and let a hot breath shudder out over the fawn-coloured tweed, opening his eyes wide against the influx of bright light and looking up at Mycroft’s lovely face as it slowly came into focus. “Please, brother. I cannot… Please…” He ducked his head slightly and rubbed up against the promising hardness, tilting his head back and pouting prettily. “Please, sir… May I suck you?”

Mycroft’s entire body jolted, and his feet slid on the hardwood as he threw his head back. “Mine, you incorrigible beast.” But he didn’t hesitate any longer to pull down his zip, reaching inside his briefs and drawing out his fully florid cock, a bead of precome crowning the slit and just begging for Sherlock’s tongue to capture it. He obliged with a heady moan, lapping at it delicately before sealing his mouth over the tip and sucking gently. Mycroft growled again and pushed his way in past his plush lips, groaning as Sherlock choked around him.

He withdrew far enough to give Sherlock some room to breathe, smiling down at him fondly as he screwed up his face and immediately swallowed him down again, determination flashing in his eyes. As inexperienced as he was, his dear brother obviously wanted to please him, and was not at all hesitant in throwing all of his not inconsiderable resources at the problem. Mycroft shivered and gently brushed Sherlock’s fringe aside as he looked up at him adoringly, his beautiful pink lips pulled obscenely wide around his hefty cock.

“Mine…”   

Sherlock’s tongue quivered against the underside of his prick as his lovely eyes fluttered, and he shifted as close to him on the cushion as he could, distorting his body as he attempted to impale himself even further. A small wrinkle formed at the top of his nose as he sucked, his eyes once again fluttering before going wide, pleading up at him. Mycroft hummed quietly as Sherlock’s voice sounded in his head, as smooth and as sweet as if he were whispering in his ear.

_‘Please, brother. Please. I am here for your pleasure, so take it as you will.’_

Mycroft sighed softly as he ran his right hand up over one fine shoulder, wrapping his fingers around the side of Sherlock’s neck and caressing his jaw with his thumb. “So eager to whore yourself out to me, brother dearest…” He bit his lip as Sherlock blinked languidly up at him, as he bobbed his head in a quick jerk and swirled his tongue over the head of his prick before sliding back down. Mycroft once again brushed the tips of his fingers over his lover’s brow before slipping them into the dark curls at the side of his head, scratching gently and then grasping tightly. “My love… Mine.”

Sherlock moaned around him as he pushed in deep, holding him firmly in place as he moved, slowly and deliberately. Keeping one hand steady on his neck, Mycroft ran his thumb over his supplicant’s throat, smiling at the feeling of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he fought to swallow around him. He made sure to keep Sherlock’s face tilted up to his, watching with greed and lust as he violated that sweet mouth, as his baby brother encouraged him wordlessly, tears leaking from his eyes and spit dribbling down his chin. Still he kept his movements slow and sure, pressing in deep but not fast, fighting back on his own base instinct to simply _take_.

There would be time for that, all the time in the world, and even though Sherlock was more or less begging for it, Mycroft was determined not to give in. This - this was special. This was Mine’s christening, and wanted to be sure that it would be done right. So he held him in place and fucked his mouth with calm deliberation, keeping eye contact all the while, his own spine contorting and twisting with the effort of holding back. He caressed the fine throat as it quivered and spasmed around him, sighing sweetly with every one of his brother’s quiet choking fits.

“Mine. Yes, you shall be Mine in name, body and spirit. My dearest, sweetest love… I will take what you have offered me, will reshape you to my desires and you will be loved above all else in my life, including myself.” Mycroft gasped as his bollocks began to draw up close to his body, feeling the impending swirl of heat low in his belly as Sherlock’s eyes began to shine with something more than involuntary tears. “Mine. Do you accept me as I am, do you accept what I am offering you? Do you accept your new title and will you take your place here, at my feet?”

Sherlock’s throat rumbled around him as he grunted in the affirmative, true tears running down his cheeks now, his face twisting with the effort to keep his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s face. He gasped again and abruptly withdrew, releasing his grip on his brother’s neck to take hold of his soaking wet prick, jerking it hard and fast. “Do you...will you... _Sherlock_...be… Mine?”

“Yes. Yes! Brother, _please…_ ”

The desperation and raspiness in Sherlock’s voice drove Mycroft right over the edge, and he clutched at his curls hard as he tipped his head back, coming in thick white spurts over his beautiful face as he snarled almost incoherently. “Mine…”  

Sherlock moaned as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, looking for all the world like a child trying to catch the first snowflake of winter. Mycroft gave him what he was seeking, waiting until his prick had seemingly spent itself before giving it a good hard squeeze from base to tip, shaking the last pearly drops right onto that quivering muscle. Sherlock cautiously opened his eyes and smiled beatifically up at him, his face glowing with love and satisfaction in equal measure.

He giggled merrily as Mycroft traced over the splashes of semen on his face, smearing them over his skin and then offering his fingers to his brother to lick clean. Sherlock’s exultation sobered slightly as something in his brother’s face changed, as his expression transitioned from sheer joy into something far deeper. He blinked languidly as the elegant fingers went to his forehead, as another errant stripe was wiped up, but rather than gifting it to Sherlock, Mycroft used it to trace a small ‘M’ in between his brows.

Whether it stood for Mycroft or for Mine, Sherlock felt the tears begin anew as he was christened, baptised with his brother’s essence, filled with his love. He closed his eyes and simply let his body relax, his head dropping as he slumped down on his knees. Mycroft stood strong and silent before him, one hand petting his hair softly. When the tears had seemed to have abated, his brother took his face in both hands and lifted it gently, bending down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, his eyes, his lips.

“Mine…”

“Yours, brother.”

The sombre moment suddenly broke as they smiled at each other, both of them breaking out into giggles and happy little sighs. Sherlock scrunched up his face and wiggled his nose before rubbing up against Mycroft’s cheek. Mycroft pulled away with a sharp cry, wiping at his face ineffectually before reaching down and hauling Sherlock to his feet. “Come. Let’s wash that filthy face of yours before the itching drives you mad.”

Sherlock smirked as Mycroft marched him out of his study and up the stairs, his hand firm on his upper arm as he guided him. He settled down on the edge of the tub somewhat primly, his arms still bound behind his back as Mycroft set to work with a damp cloth. He grimaced slightly as his brother scrubbed, but on the whole he endured the trial with a certain amount of pride. Mycroft smiled as he concluded his task, turning Sherlock’s head this way and that to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. He nuzzled briefly into one damp pink cheek before stepping back and nodding curtly.

“So good for me. Now go and wait in my room as before.”

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded in his turn, walking out without commentary. After taking a moment to clean himself off and tuck away a deeply satisfied piece of his own anatomy, Mycroft once again detoured into Sherlock’s old room, taking out one of his suits and a somewhat shabby white shirt. He sighed in irritation, but almost immediately brightened again. He had the means at his disposal to fix this, and it would be done today.

He smiled approvingly at the figure kneeling on his bed and laid the suit out near the head. “Stand for me please, and bend over the mattress, if you would.” Sherlock’s eyebrows jumped in surprise, but he did exactly as he was told, turning his cheek into the duvet and settling down with a little sigh. Mycroft tutted quietly as the rather ripe bottom was wriggled saucily, stepping up behind him and grasping him firmly by the waist before leaning over his prone form. “Stop that, you hussy.”

Sherlock giggled, but obediently went still. “Yes, sir.”

Mycroft hummed and bent down to press kisses up his spine. “Such a treasure I’ve found… Now keep still.” He went to work picking the knot in the silk loose, carefully tugging the length of fabric free from around Sherlock’s forearms. Moving slowly and calmly, he stretched out the limbs delicately, placing them at Sherlock’s sides, rotating each shoulder gently and rubbing the blood back into them.

Sherlock groaned with relief and wiggled his fingers at Mycroft’s behest, closing his eyes and practically purring with contentment as his brother tended to him. “Thank you, brother.”

“No, my dear. Thank you. You’ve been remarkable. So patient and so obedient. I do believe that I will have a treat for you by day’s end.”

“Oh, but every single moment spent with you is a treat, brother mine.”

Mycroft chuckled warmly. “Such sweet things you say…” He hummed quietly as his fingers traced down Sherlock’s back. “Now roll over and sit up, but do it slowly. You may experience a bit of a…” His hand came out to clasp Sherlock’s arm as he sat up abruptly and swayed somewhat dangerously. “A head rush.” Mycroft shook his head fondly as Sherlock looked up at him from under his lashes bashfully. “Silly thing.” He bent down to kiss his temple before wagging his finger in his face. “Next time perhaps you’ll pause long enough to actually listen to what I have to say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Goodness, but we should have done this years ago…” Mycroft shook out the white shirt as Sherlock giggled, still wriggling his fingers to bring back sensation as it was slipped over his arms. He quieted down as his elder brother calmly buttoned him up, blinking disbelievingly as Mycroft crouched and rolled his socks on before encouraging him to slide his legs into his trousers. Sherlock blushed as he pushed himself to his feet, his fingers fumbling to hoist them up to his waist, but Mycroft tutted at him quietly. “I wish to take care of you, Mine.” Sherlock bit his lip and nodded as his brother got his trousers settled, tucking in his shirttails and zipping him up securely. Sherlock once again sank down to sit on the edge of the mattress as he was subjected to the Cinderella treatment, with Prince Mycroft doing the honours and seeing his feet shod.

Sherlock giggled again and his brother glanced up at him before standing, his cool grey eyes sparkling with an unbridled joy. The breath caught in Sherlock’s chest as Mycroft held his hands out to him, and he simply had to bring them both to his mouth, brushing his lips over his knuckles. “You’re so lovely, brother. Unguarded and unrestrained - it makes my chest ache with your beauty.”

Mycroft smiled broadly and swept him up into his arms, twirling him around his bedroom briefly. “All for you, Mine. Only you will see this part of me, because you are my joy and my glory. Only you bring this out in me. Only you can make me so unbelievably happy.” He paused as something wild and uncertain passed over Sherlock’s features, cupping his face in both hands and pressing a kiss to his trembling lips. “Tell me, Mine. You mustn’t hide yourself from me - not anymore.”

“It’s wicked, brother. Evil. It would frighten you.”

Sherlock’s dear voice was but a bare whisper, and Mycroft felt tears constricting in his chest as his baby brother looked up at him with desperation and fear clouding his face. “No. No, my beloved. There is absolutely nothing in that head of yours that could drive me away. Consider all of your prior attempts, and see that I am still here before you. So tell me and be at peace. This is to be a joyous day, and I do not want your mind tainted with doubt.”

Sherlock nodded tremulously and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to force the words out. Mycroft kissed him once more before sliding his hands up, covering his eyes and sparing him the expression on his face. He relaxed instantly, his arms draping loosely around Mycroft’s waist. “Oh, thank you, brother. I…” Mycroft gave him all the time he needed, feeling the minute change of his expression in naught but the twitching of his eye muscles under his palms. “I have this desire… An image that I see in my head when I look at you and oh, but it horrifies me...and delights me. I wonder about myself sometimes, Mycroft. I wonder what horrors I could be capable of…”

“Share your burden with me, my love. Let me help to chase away your demons. Tell me what you see.”

“I...I see...you, brother… I see you laid out still and pale and silent. I see you beautiful in death, and I know that my hands have done the foul deed, for they are still around your throat.” Mycroft clasped his brother closer as he trembled violently, swiftly shuffling them over to the bed as Sherlock’s legs threatened to give out on him. They sank onto the mattress together, with Mycroft rolling over on his back and silently encouraging Sherlock to rest on top of him. He took a moment to bury his face in his brother’s chest before straddling his waist and sitting up slowly and opening his eyes. They widened upon seeing Mycroft’s face, flushed pink with desire, his eyes wordlessly demanding that he finish telling him of his vision. Sherlock took in a deep breath before obliging, running his hands along the buttons on his brother’s waistcoat.

“I see...a knife. I twiddle it in my fingers, for it shines and flashes in the light. It is fine and sharp, and slices very cleanly. Your skin is like silk, and it parts so easily for me - as simple as opening a book, laying you bare.” Mycroft ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, squeezing hard as he tapped at his tie pin, at the sternum underneath. “You’re empty here - your chest is like a cavern, warm and dark and soothing. The darkness entices me, and I crawl inside. Then your ribs slam shut around me, caging me in and I fight, I beat against your bones but I can’t break free. You hold me fast and squeeze me tight until I cannot fight anymore, but it is warm and dark and I feel safe inside you. You hold me, yes, but it is no longer against my will. I wear your skin proudly and you carry me so tenderly that it makes me weep. You hold me, and I am safe.”

Mycroft blinked up at him, his eyes wide with wonder. Sherlock felt his spine ripple with relief as he noted no fear in his dear brother’s eyes, but he tried to shrug it off halfheartedly. “I’ve long held on to that grotesque bit of imagery - it was the only thing that kept me sane whenever you were away from me. There may have been times that I harboured that horrid fantasy even when I did have you at my side, for although you were there next to me, I did not feel the strong cage of your bones around me.”

“And now?” Mycroft spoke to him softly, taking Sherlock’s hands and placing them on the broad spread of his ribs, taking in one deep breath and then another.

Sherlock smiled as he breathed with him, nodding shyly. “I do, brother.”

“Yes.” Mycroft took Sherlock’s right hand and placed it over his heart, pressing down hard. “For you are my heart, a vital piece of my body and my mind and I would fight to the death to protect you. I would happily submit to your blade if it meant making you happy, Mine.”

“I know.”

Mycroft smiled crookedly up at his brother, winking as Sherlock blushed faintly. “I sincerely hope it does not come to that, of course.” He sighed quietly as Sherlock drummed his fingers over his chest in rhythm to the beating of his heart. “You should have been a poet, brother mine. I find myself reeling from the beauty of your words.”

Sherlock hummed vaguely, shaking his head. “Only you bring that out in me, Mycroft. There are only so many poems that can be scribed on the subject of romantic and sexual infatuation with one’s sibling, you know. Not to mention the distinctly homicidal tendencies being so blatantly presented…”

Mycroft grinned disarmingly as he reached up to chuck Sherlock under the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I’m not frightened in the least, Mine. Don’t forget that I know you better than anyone else living, and in no way am I shocked by your propensity toward violence. It’s a tendency that we share, after all. I am only shocked that you were willing to share this vision of yours with me, and am deeply honoured to be the main attraction, as it were. Indeed, I am rather pleased that I was still of use to you while I was away, even if it were only by proxy.”    

“Never again, brother. Not after this. I truly would go mad without you.”

“No. Never again. I promise you, Mine.”

Sherlock sank down to place his head on Mycroft’s chest, sighing deeply as he melted into his calming touch. “Yours. As you are mine.”

“Indeed I am, my love.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. I'm back. I think. I've got so much of the future of this story written up, it's been killing me not to post it. But I gotta get there first, right?
> 
> Hopefully it won't be another - what - 10 months before posting again...

George had a key to the house, of course. But he was also unfailingly polite, knocking to announce his presence before he let himself in. Thankfully Mycroft had managed to keep both Sherlock and himself fully clothed after his pet’s hasty baptism, although it was a sore trial at this early stage of their enhanced relationship. He found himself thinking that he may have to make allowances or simply take George’s key away to prevent any potential future embarrassment, however.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as his driver stood by the door with an impassive look on his face. He and Anthea were his most trusted companions, and it was entirely possible that they both already had a clear idea of the unusual circumstances of the Holmes brothers' relationship. Indeed, Anthea had most likely suspected that there was something deeper there long before it had even solidified for them. She was terribly intuitive that way, and almost shamefully sneaky as well. But then, since those were some of the very same qualities that Mycroft had specifically recruited her for...

Not that it mattered much at the moment, as there were other tasks to be accomplished today. He watched with a sharp gaze as Sherlock deftly buttoned his suit jacket with one hand, smoothing down his pockets and reaching for his ever-present Belstaff. George stepped up behind him to assist in getting it situated, and Sherlock blushed slightly as he turned his head to thank him quietly. Mycroft’s driver turned a frankly astonished look on him, and he could only chuckle in return. How pleasant and compliant his brother had become, and in such short order, too.

“Anthea informed me that you weren’t to be going to the offices today, sir. Where shall I be taking you?”

“Actually, I would like for you to take a bit of a rest today, George. Sherlock and I have some personal errands to attend to, so I will take over your duties for the day. However, I do have a number of packages that are scheduled for delivery - I was hoping you could tend to that task in our absence.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like me to unpack anything for you?”

Mycroft suddenly grinned as Sherlock’s eyes widened comically, the tips of his ears going scarlet as he sucked in a great gasp of air, choking on nothing at all. George glanced between the two of them in obvious confusion before reaching over to clap Sherlock on the back firmly.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Just see the boxes placed up in my bedroom, if you would. Feel free to entertain yourself however you like in the interim. You know where everything is, of course, and the fridge is fairly well stocked.”

“Very good, sir.” George held the door open as Sherlock trooped out, winking at Mycroft as he passed over the keys to the car. “I do hope your mission proves satisfactory.”

Mycroft grinned again as he returned his wink, feeling unusually light and carefree. “Thank you, George. Enjoy your day.”

They drove in silence, something that felt warm and easy as opposed to the awkward nonsense that they’d had to deal with in earlier days. Sherlock’s fingers twitched against his thigh as though he wanted to reach out to his older brother, so Mycroft took the initiative for him, squeezing his hand gently before bringing it over to rest on his leg.

“It’s all right, my love. You can touch me unless I give you specific orders not to do so. I understand that you still need a bit of assurance. Truth to tell, so do I. You’re quite right to behave a little more cautiously while we’re out in public, but we’re safe in here.”

“Yes, brother.” Sherlock swallowed uneasily even as he slid his palm a little further upward and inward on Mycroft’s thigh. “Where are you taking me?”

“First, to my tailor. I wish to see you outfitted with a new suit. Or perhaps two.”

“Mycroft, that’s completely unnecessary. There’s nothing wrong with the suits that I already own.”

“What I wish is never unnecessary, Mine. Don’t forget that. I agree that there is nothing _wrong_ with them, per se. I simply wish to buy you new ones to keep at my home. Some fresh shirts as well, and frankly, the state of your underwear is terribly alarming.”

Sherlock groaned quietly. “Brother...”

“Mine.” Mycroft gave Sherlock’s hand a quick squeeze. “Allow me to pamper you as I wish, my darling. Let me show you just how much I adore you.”

“I don’t need _things_ to know that, brother dearest. I just need _you_.”

“Precious thing." Mycroft sighed wistfully. "Oh, if only I had taken my hand to your backside years ago...”

Sherlock giggled quietly, his entire being suffused with a warm glow of pleasure and satisfaction. He soothed his own qualms about being pampered in this manner, knowing instinctively that because this was something that Mycroft was insisting on, he had no choice but to concede. Not because his brother would force him, but because he truly wanted to bring Mycroft joy, in whatever form that may take. And of course he would be lying to himself if he tried to deny that being treated like a pampered pet wasn’t a terribly intriguing idea.

It had been a number of years since Sherlock had been to the tailor at all; not since graduating from University, in fact. Mother had insisted on seeing her youngest child done up properly for the pomp and circumstance, but she hadn’t really been able to enjoy the fruits of her cajoling arguments, as Mycroft had whisked Sherlock away to his townhouse directly after the ceremony. Sherlock had been running high on adrenaline for nearly forty-eight hours at that point, and of course his loving brother had recognised instantly that he was nearly on the verge of collapse.

Since the shop had his measurements and since he didn’t particularly care how his clothing arranged itself on his frame, Sherlock had just phoned and ordered a new one whenever he deemed it necessary. Which wasn’t all that often anyway, as these were the same tailors that had been doing business with the Holmes family for generations, and they always produced an extremely well-made product.

The head of the shop practically beamed as they walked in together, Sherlock trailing a step or two behind. He tried to affect his usual expression of insolent nonchalance as Mycroft glanced back at him, biting his tongue to keep the bored look on his face as his brother winked at him saucily.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes. I must say, it’s rather a surprise to see you. We don’t have you scheduled for a fitting for another three months or so, sir.”

“Ah, yes. I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion, Andrew, but it is rather a special occasion. My taciturn little brother has allowed me the courtesy of purchasing for him a new suit, along with - other items. I thought it best to bring him straight to you before he could change his mind.”

The tailor’s eyes had lit up at both the mention of an entire suit as well as the ‘other items’, and he scuttled out from behind his counter without delay. Mycroft smoothly stepped behind Sherlock and slipped the Belstaff from his shoulders, swiftly bestowing a covert caress to the nape of his neck. Sherlock shivered as he straightened his posture, watching from the corner of his eye as Andrew walked around him in a slow circle.

“Oh, yes, but it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Sherlock nearly jumped as his jacket was lifted, as there was a displeased clucking from behind. “That seat really is terribly shiny, and these shoulder seams, oh dear oh dear... Yes yes, quite definitely due for something new, perhaps a leaner silhouette, a more modern cut? Your frame would suit something like that very nicely, I believe. Come, let me show you some samples.”

Sherlock voiced a vague affirmative as Andrew gestured him forward, and Mycroft tilted his head graciously as he followed. Knowing that he was meant to please his brother, he looked to him for approval, following Mycroft’s subtle cues to approve or reject the various styles that Andrew presented to him.

Once a pattern had been selected, they all crowded into one fitting room together. If Andrew thought there was anything unusual in his brother being present while Sherlock was stripped down to his underwear and measured, he certainly did not let on. In fact, it seemed that he and Mycroft were of one mind when it came to the state of Sherlock’s pants, as an entire conversation was held with nothing more than inquisitive hums and expressive eyebrows. Nor was his abused flesh commented on, beyond a quickly muttered apology as the measuring tape was pulled taut against a rather vibrant bruise.

Sherlock sighed from somewhere deep in his belly as Andrew stepped out to check on a particular fabric, finally leaving him alone with his brother. They traded amused if somewhat embarrassed looks in the mirror before Sherlock shrugged. “Thank goodness for professional discretion, I suppose.”

“Mine.” Sherlock glanced behind as Mycroft held out his shirt, and he obligingly slipped his arms into the sleeves. He turned around and crowded closer as Mycroft reached for his buttons, fighting the urge to simply plant his nose in his brother’s neck. “Oh, Mine, my darling.” Sherlock whimpered softly as he was pulled into his brother’s arms, his proximity offering comfort and strength. “You are doing so well, my love.”

Sherlock squirmed as Mycroft gave his tender bum a vicious squeeze, as he pushed him away and resumed doing up his buttons. “Thank you, brother.”

“You’re welcome.” Mycroft patted his cheek and gave him a swift kiss. “Your trousers, love. Then I will complete the formalities with Andrew, and we can continue on to the spa. We won’t have to be quite as circumspect there, I believe.”

Sherlock let out another pent-up breath even as he kept his voice pitched low. “That will be a relief. I find that I’m rather anxious to feel your touch, even only the lightest of caresses.” He looked up from under his lashes as he sat to put on his shoes. “Your touch soothes me, brother. It keeps me calm.”

“That’s as it should be, Mine.” Mycroft took his chin in thumb and forefinger, tilting his face up and pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. “Let this soothe you a bit longer, hm?”

Without another word, he turned and exited the room, leaving Sherlock to follow once he had settled himself. Glancing toward the counter, he noted that Andrew and his brother were deep into negotiations, and so he entertained himself by wandering around the shop, fingering the ties and fighting the urge to re-categorise everything by type of fabric and colour.

Mycroft chuckled warmly behind him, and Sherlock shivered with delight. “I am not the only one who likes things just so, am I?”

Sherlock turned a shy smile on him and shook his head slightly. “No, brother.”

“Come.” Mycroft almost held his arm out to him, turning the gesture into something beckoning instead at the last moment. Bolstered by the idea that even his brother was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself, Sherlock nodded and allowed himself to be swept out of the shop.

Rather than heading back to the car, Mycroft led Sherlock down a few streets, the tip of his umbrella tapping on the pavement with each sedate step. At a seemingly innocuous alleyway, he calmly took Sherlock’s arm, and knocked at a thoroughly uninteresting door. It opened to reveal a bland-looking gentleman adorned in butler attire, wearing an intricately filigreed metal collar, something that would have fit in quite nicely on the set of a fantasy film.

As he gestured them in silently, Sherlock noticed that he had matching cuffs on his wrists. He made no sound, simply escorting them down a dimly-lit corridor and knocking at what seemed to be an office door. It was clear as they entered that this was the foyer to the spa, as the space was open and well-lit, resulting in an almost airy atmosphere due to the skylights and a number of plants dotted about.

There were shelves on one wall, with a rather dizzying array of items up for sale. There was the usual cosmetic fare that one could expect, face masques and body creams, but there were also various toys on display, as well as floggers and leather harnesses hanging on hooks nearby. Sherlock swallowed past a click in his throat as he caught his brother’s eye, Mycroft’s lips turning up in a predatory grin.

The almost matronly woman behind the counter nodded at them before dismissing their escort with a disdainful flick of her wrist. “Back to your post, Deux.” He left, again without comment, barely even acknowledging them. “He disappointed me with some remarkably stupid comments, so I made him take a vow of silence until I see fit to release him.”

Mycroft blinked as Sherlock crowded a little closer. “I see. How long?”

“It’s only been three days. I think he’ll crack before another twenty-four hours pass.” Her flinty eyes twinkled. “And then I’ll really be able to have some fun.” Her rather lush lips pinched up into a curious pucker as she eyed the both of them, one eyebrow raising at the sound of Mycroft making soothing noises under his breath. “New, aren’t you?” Her pale blue eyes narrowed at Mycroft’s telling glare. “I don’t just mean the relationship - it’s obvious that you’re very familiar with one another, but it’s also very clear that the physical manifestation of your bond is still a bit shaky. You’re just feeling your way around this, aren’t you?”

Mycroft cleared his throat as he turned to her, his mouth turned down into a disapproving frown. “Miss...”

“Valerie.”

“Miss Valerie. As illuminating as your observations may seem to you, I am very sure that it is not your place to question the feelings of those that choose to retain the services of this establishment.”

“Wrong.” She turned a pleasant smile on them to mitigate the harshness of that one syllable even as her eyes narrowed coldly. “I _own_ this establishment, and as an ethical pervert, it is very much my responsibility to ensure that everything that happens under this roof is undertaken with the very firm conviction that all parties are fully cognisant and consenting of their own free will. That knowledge can be a little hinky right in the beginning, as everyone involved is usually riding pretty high on hormones or an overblown sense of their own power.” Sherlock smirked slightly as Mycroft took a wavering step back, Miss Valerie’s icy glare outstripping his easily. “Under normal circumstances, I would send you away and tell you to come back a month or so later after the initial rush of excitement had time to temper itself. However, you would not have made it to my door had you not been vouched for by one of my longstanding clients. Therefore...” She perused a screen on the laptop that was set up in front of her, sighing and shaking her head. “Mr. Hitchcock?”

Mycroft’s lips twitched as Sherlock quietly snickered next to him. “Indeed.”

The coolness of her gaze softened slightly as she looked between them. “Right. Seeing as how you _were_ vouched for, you must know that we are extremely discreet. Although it isn’t strictly necessary, rest assured that your true names would be kept safe and free from any potential scandal.”

Mycroft clucked his tongue. “Oddly enough, I believe you.” He lowered a pointed gaze. “You. Anyone else in your organisation, however...”

Miss Valerie tilted her head in curt acknowledgement as Mycroft’s voice petered out meaningfully. “Understood.” She turned her eyes on Sherlock, gracing him with soft smile that felt more motherly than professional. “And what’s your name, then?”

Sherlock stiffened slightly, leaning into the gentle touch at the small of his back. “William.”

“Thank you, dear. Now, if it’s all right with the both of you, I’d like to have a bit of a word with William in private.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Mycroft gave his brother a little push in her direction, indicating his approval with a tiny nod. He watched with pride as Sherlock threw his shoulders back and followed her through the office door without looking back at him. The private interview was most likely to ensure Miss Valerie that ‘William’ wasn’t being coerced in any manner, a practice that Mycroft could not find blame with. Since he had no doubt that Sherlock would conduct himself with aplomb, he did not allow his mind to linger on what could be happening just beyond that door.

It was fine. It was all fine. He turned away to peruse the products on display as he waited, a trifle surprised to note the low level of anxiety underlying his outward calm. After all, the woman had been right. They were new - very new. Perhaps they should have taken some time before jumping in with both feet, no matter how badly they both seemed to want this. In truth, he had been a little taken aback by how quickly Sherlock had submitted to him, no matter the long years of sexual tension between them.  

Perhaps they had just sensed that they were complementary in that regard, and the basis for this rather unique arrangement had been building for decades. How else to explain the ease of the transition, only one night necessary to pledge themselves to one another, to swear to serve and to protect.

Mycroft’s fingers trembled slightly as he picked up a jar of body scrub, something ‘all-natural’ and making truly unbelievable claims. Shaking his head at the realisation that he was missing his brother’s presence at his side, he moved on to the far more intriguing wares, lifting a lightweight leather flogger from its hook and running his fingers through the tails. Oh, but that was lovely...

Of course, he had one on order, but if it didn’t prove adequate, at least he would know who to place any subsequent orders with. Mycroft turned slightly as he heard the door open behind him, replacing the flogger with a passing tug on the soft leather strips.

“Mr. Hitchcock.”

“Miss Valerie.” Mycroft folded his hands in front of him as he turned fully, tilting his head deferentially. “Did we pass muster?”

Her smile was a great deal warmer as she stepped aside and gestured him forward. “Indeed. Please come this way.”


End file.
